


A View From Halfway Down

by I_AM_THE_LIVING_DEAD



Series: Whatever Happened to the Boy of Tomorrow? [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha Clark Kent, Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha Jonathan Samuel Kent, Alpha Kon-El | Conner Kent, Alpha Talia al Ghul, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arguments, Bat Family Drama, Beta Alfred Pennyworth, Beta Lois Lane, Body Image, Breaking Up & Making Up, Bullying, Childbirth, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Discussion of Abortion, Fighting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Infertility, Intersex Omegas, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Murder, Omega Damian Wayne, Omega Jason Todd, Omega Tim Drake, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_AM_THE_LIVING_DEAD/pseuds/I_AM_THE_LIVING_DEAD
Summary: “Your teenage years are great, but then your twenties roll around like a fuckin’ garbage truck at 5:00 AM.”   -Baba.Damian Wayne wasn’t the sentimental type.Nostalgia just wasted precious time that could be used to do something productive. But occasionally, he had to confront his problems and admit that he made some foolish choices. Very foolish choices, with none other than his obnoxious counterpart, Jon Kent.Perhaps he should face nostalgia, because Jon reminded him of everything he never had, but could have, despite being so young.Through uncertainties and hardships, Damian and Jon have a baby (and their families just about kill them because of it).*Sequel to “Some People Have Real Problems.”*
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Original Child Character(s), Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent & Original Child Character(s), Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: Whatever Happened to the Boy of Tomorrow? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798978
Comments: 218
Kudos: 350





	1. The Bathroom

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy and discussion of abortion. If you are sensitive to either of these, please do not read! 
> 
> I'm so sorry I haven't updated for over a week. I've had MAJOR writers block, but writing this helped it eventually go away. I think I'm back into the swing of things, so my other stories will be updated soon. 
> 
> In the meantime, here is this burning mess. 
> 
> Enjoy.

"You're funny. Is that what you're supposed to be?" 

The confession wasn’t intended to be comedic. 

This Friday evening had been annoyingly typical and monotonous, and the weather was the polar opposite of what had been forecasted. This downpour was sudden and resulted in their uniforms plastering to their physiques, their hair flattened against their scalps and sticking to their foreheads. They were bound to face uncooperative weather occasionally, but neither of them were too keen on catching a cold. 

They were currently huddled underneath a balcony decorated with wilting flowerbeds, sitting atop a dumpster while hugging their knees to their chests. Both were shivering like terrified soldiers facing an entourage, but Jon was hoping that his abilities would heighten soon and raise his temperature. 

Of course, he was far more concerned about his counterpart than himself, especially with that groundbreaking confession that gave his brain whiplash. 

Eventually, Damian cleared his throat awkwardly, and lowered his emerald gaze to his soaked, steel-toed boots. He hugged his legs a little tighter, and the kaleidoscopic colors of his costume reminded Jon of twin pythons constricting together. 

He inhaled slowly through his nose, and clarified, “Occasionally, but this is not a joke. Because of recent symptoms, I have reason to believe that I am. I am planning to properly check of course, but I…I thought you should know first.” 

Jon swallowed audibly, his mouth drying into a desert from the news. His cheeks flushed automatically at the recollection of what put them in this unbelievable predicament, and Damian glared at him firmly. “Do not become flustered now for whatever stupid reason. I told you tonight so we could see the results together. I understand if you do not want to, and I will not stop you from leaving, but I would…” 

He trailed off, grimaced at how he had stooped so low, and muttered uncharacteristically-shyly, “I would appreciate if you stayed. It is what I would prefer.” Despite his detailed manner of speaking in which he sounded like an emotionally-stunted infant half the time, Jon immediately understood what Damian was actually saying, and he nodded bluntly. 

“Of course I’ll stay. I’d be a total jerk if I left. Besides, our patrol isn’t over yet”, he reminded the other, and the smaller boy returned the action, still avoiding eye contact. That was understandable, but Jon wasn’t the antipathetic type. He carefully curled his digits around Damian’s calloused palm, and squeezed it reassuringly. 

The fellow thirteen-year-old copied the gesture, squeezing Jon’s hand tightly like a vice. His expression was neutral, as if he were concentrated onto a single thought, but Jon always caught Damian’s tells. He was nervous, and he could faintly smell the sour odor of distress, even through the freezing thunderstorm and multiple scent blocker patches. 

They just sat together for another minute or so, mutely encouraging themselves until Damian released his hand and stated, “There’s a CVS down the block. Come on.” The pair changed into casual clothing in the alleyway behind the drugstore, which were just as dampened as their costumes, but at least they were heading into a heated space with ventilation. 

Unsurprisingly, Damian acted as if he were snagging a priceless item of jewelry rather than a medical device, while Jon pretended to be invested in the celebrity gossip magazines, just so the cashier wouldn’t become suspicious. 

They would simply shuffle into the bathroom, do the “procedure” as Damian dramatically called it (Jon totally did not roll his eyes), and then trash it without anyone noticing. 

The thirteen-year-old jumped when Damian yanked on his sweatshirt sleeve, jarring him out of the column about some musician couple having an illegitimate baby. He was dragged to the bathrooms in the far corner of the store, and they stepped inside when the cashier turned away. They did not feel like being humiliated by a random worker realizing that they were newly-presented teenagers already using a pregnancy test. 

“Jeez, how many did you grab?”, Jon questioned when Damian dropped them all to the unwashed tile floor, the cardboard clattering. He also pulled out two bottles of purple Gatorade (the other colors upset his stomach). 

“Five. It will take twenty-five minutes in all, but it is best to use every brand in case one may be inaccurate”, Damian explained, shrugging nonchalantly as he entered a stall. 

Jon folded his arms and leaned against the stall door, blanching at the accumulation of grime and mystery substances on the floor that he decided not to question. He listened to the rustle of Damian’s clothes, followed by him drinking a few mouthfuls of Gatorade and tearing open a test package. 

He waited, flitting his aquamarine eyes to the cracked mirror adjacent to him. Damn, he looked like garbage, with darkened bags underneath his irises like polluted waters. 

It shouldn’t shock him, given that he and Damian had been working their asses off attempting to rid Crime Alley of its main racketeers and rapists. So far, they had been fairing pretty well, but it was draining, the sheer amount of pummeling and handcuffing and dragging criminals to police stations. 

Eventually, he heard the Omega relieve himself, and slumped his shoulders. He remembered the afternoon Damian presented, and how utterly disappointed he had been, his expression crestfallen and scent pungent with distress. His parents were massive, hyper-masculine Alphas who commanded entire empires of heroes or villains, and he had been groomed from an early age to always act as an Alpha. 

Everyone had been certain that Damian would be at the top of the second-gender food-chain, so when his scent bloomed into the fragrance of gardenias and chocolate-chip cookies (a strange mixture), he had been, well…ashamed, to put it nicely. 

He steered clear of Bruce for over a week; avoided interacting with Dick; hell, he refused to enter the new Titans headquarters because all of his teammates were Alphas or Betas. 

It wasn’t until Bruce discussed the whole inflated pride problem with him in private that Damian reluctantly accepted that he was an Omega, and unless he had a series of reassignment surgeries, he was stuck like this. He didn’t have an interest in having his scent gland removed and reproductive organs sterilized, but…he was struggling a little. 

To be honest, Jon believed their second-genders were swapped somehow. He was shy, cheerful and obnoxiously optimistic while Damian was outspoken, serious and demanded respect. 

Usually, Jon’s personality coincided with the stereotypical Omega, but he presented as an Alpha instead. At least he cherished Omegas though, because Damian had threatened to decapitate him if he said anything sexist. 

“How’s it going in there? Do you want me to come in?”, Jon inquired, sniffing the air and fidgeting nervously. For a minute, there was an eerie silence, before Damian mumbled, “…Yes.” 

The maroon door unlocked, and Jon sidestepped inside, locking it again once he was situated. The space was too narrow and cramped for him to sit across from his friend, but he didn’t wish to touch that unwashed floor anyway. 

The Gatorade bottles were discarded to the side, and Damian was clutching the five tests tightly enough to splinter them. He sighed heavily, as if a million pounds were weighing on his shoulders, and he announced quietly, “We fucked up.” Jon normally scolded him for cursing, but just swallowed again this time, and leaned forward to view the results. 

Five identical, pink plus signs. 

They triggered a tremor through him, as if an earthquake was going off in his innards, and he whispered, “We’re in so much trouble.” He seemed genuinely petrified, eyes widening to the size of goddamn saucers, his breathing quickening a little. 

The ebony-haired boy knew that Alphas were supposed to comfort their Omegas in dire situations such as this, but he was too focused on the mental image of his parents blowing a fuse to comfort the other. Suddenly, his kneecap was punched, startling him from his whirlwind of thoughts, and he glanced down. 

Damian’s eyes were darkened; in fact, there seemed to be an aura of melancholy floating around him. After dealing with such a twisted, violent lineage, him knowing that he was expanding it probably bothered him. 

Jon sagged his shoulders and frowned sympathetically, daring to extend an arm and card his fingers through Damian’s feather-soft hair, if just to ground both his friend and himself. 

Eventually, the Omega informed him, “I will get an abortion within the next week. Preferably the pill method as to not provoke suspicion by leaving for a surgical one. Our missions are too important to be distracted by this.” He flushed, adjusted his clothing, and stepped up to exit the stall when Jon blocked him. 

“Don’t you want to talk about it a little? It’s…it’s mine too…”, he stuttered, internally gawking at how strange that sounded out-loud. If they were legal adults, it wouldn’t shock him as much, but they were practically pre-teens, and this all was just…a lot to cope with. 

Damian quirked an obsidian eyebrow, tilting his head back to peer up at his companion. “There is no need for a discussion. You know that we cannot afford to compromise our mission. Besides, we never should have copulated in the first place. It will not happen again.” 

Jon winced in distaste, and replied exasperatedly, “Do you have to call it that? It sounds so…serious. Just call it ‘making love’ or something.” 

The petite boy pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly unimpressed. “What we did was not based off of ‘love.’ I was having my first Heat, and I requested your help. All you were doing was assisting me, and I made you feel good in the process.” 

Jon blushed, but Damian proceeded. “If we were older, and not in this line of work, I would consider other options. But we…do not tell anyone this, but I am not ready for this. Not yet.” 

Jon glanced away, hoping his disappointment wasn’t too visible. It was true that neither were prepared for this, and their building careers as heroes could be quite dangerous, so why was he reluctant to get rid of it? They were practically kids having conceived another pup, but the idea of Damian going through such a personal loss rubbed Jon the wrong way on a number of levels. 

“…Okay. I’m not ready for this either. But if you do this, I want to be with you. I don’t want you going through it alone”, Jon settled, wrapping his sinewy arms around Damian and hugging him as if it were the end of the universe. Damian squirmed at first, not accustomed to affectionate contact, but ultimately relaxed in Jon’s cradling hold, burying his face into his collarbone. 

Jon nuzzled the crook of Damian’s neck with his nose, across his covered scent gland and a puckered scar from when he was stabbed by an assassin as an infant. 

Neither were experienced in romantic bonding, but Jon was an expert at scenting from having forged so many friendships, so he rubbed his inner wrist against the little Omega’s cheek, where his secondary scent gland was located. 

Damian was cautious as he leaned into the touch, screwing his eyes shut as Jon whimpered, “I’m sorry. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be--.” 

“Shut up. It was my decision, too. We were foolish; both of us are to blame. I suppose I will let you be with me when I abort it, but NEVER breathe a word of it to anyone else. Not your parents; not Father; not Baba; not the Titans.” 

Jon nodded along, though he was crestfallen at not being able to confide in his parents. This was so sudden and unplanned, it overwhelmed him to the brink of tears. But, he blinked the impending waterworks away, and hugged Damian ever tighter. 

“Okay”, he muttered, and they both fell silent. 

Jon listened to Damian’s shallow breathing, and to his powerful heartbeat. They were both like echoes in his eardrums, causing him to wonder what their pup would sound like if this scenario were different. They were just a cluster of cells, so hopefully it wouldn’t be too impactful of a farewell, but as he rocked his friend back-and-forth, his lips quivered. 

He could have swore he heard a third heartbeat, just beneath his fingertips. If only Damian could hear it, too.


	2. Wanton Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian suddenly changes his mind on what he wants to do with his pup, and Jon isn't exactly onboard with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Attempted abortion, teenage pregnancy, and discussion of miscarriage(s). If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks! They're very much appreciated, and are very encouraging! 
> 
> Enjoy.

"I'm gonna be sick." 

The announcement scarcely registered in his distracted brain, which had been hyper-focused on the electronic music pounding against his cranium instead of the reason they were cooped up here in the first place. 

Jon jolted when he finally realized what Damian was saying, and scrambled to locate a trashcan for him when the smaller simply lifted himself off the toilet, whipped around, and dropped on his knees to vomit violently into the unfamiliar porcelain throne. 

Jon dashed out of the stall to dampen some napkins from the rusted counter, frowning at the lukewarm water. He locked himself back into the cramped, grime-caked space, the wooden walls decorated with graffitied slurs and carved hearts to unknown beloveds. Squeezing into the slot between Damian and the wall, he lowered to his haunches and scrubbed the soaked paper against Damian’s forehead with one hand. 

He used the other to massage his spine in a circular motion, but despite his tranquil exterior, he was internally freaking the fuck out. Damian didn’t mention nausea being a symptom of a medical abortion, and the shoddiest part was that said procedure hasn’t even happened yet. 

The thirteen-year-old chewed excessively on his lip until a pearl of maroon beaded from it. Okay, he had to backpedal for a moment. 

Damian took the mifepristone this morning after breakfast, and was capable of patrolling throughout the day without trouble, even in this dangerous, road-blocking snowstorm that grounded airplanes and vehicles from coast-to-coast. 

Now, they were approaching the witching hour, and had snuck in through the storage entrance of some underground nightclub in the seediest section of Gotham to finish what they accidentally started. 

Damian had applied two misoprostol pills to each side of his mouth, and had been waiting patiently for them to dissolve so he could swallow them when he suddenly threw his guts up. 

Perhaps he took the misoprostol too soon after the first pill? Sure, he had copied instructions from Dr. Leslie Tompkins’ clinic when he snatched the abortion medication, but he could have followed a direction wrong. Damian may be highly intelligent for his age, but everyone makes errors every now and then. 

It was just a part of being a homo-sapien, he supposed. 

When the retching finally tapered off, Damian groaned miserably and slumped against the toilet rim, clutching the sides until his knuckles bloomed an unnatural shade of white against his otherwise olive complexion. Jon continued to rub his back and wipe his paled face of sweat, just until Damian regained his composure and explained what backfired. 

For at least five minutes, the only sounds were of drunken twenty-one-year-olds shrieking their laughter, bartenders shouting to each other, some overplayed melody about sex in a public pool, and Damian’s accelerated heartbeat. 

It may not be audible to him, but to Jon, it was booming louder than the shitty music, like war-drums speeding up with the thrill of the kill. 

Eventually, the Omega cleared his throat and rasped around the newfound soreness and disgusting aftertaste, “I can’t do it.” 

Jon stiffened, scrunching his nose at the putrid stench of distress radiating off of his—friend? Crush? Person he had sex with one time that blew his fucking mind? He didn’t really know what to call them recently. 

“What do you mean? Did the pills taste bad? Should I take you to Dr. Tompkins? We can get there quick if I carry you”, Jon fired worried questions at him like an anxious interrogator, until Damian directed a nasty glare at him. He clicked his mouth shut, startled by just how exhausted the other appeared to be. 

He swallowed audibly, flushed the toilet so the odor of his lost dinner wouldn’t sicken him further, and explained hoarsely, “I was prepared for this. I went by the instructions, and I told myself all day, everyday that this was for the best, because it is. And then…” 

He trailed off, cleared his throat again, and muttered, “And then I thought about how Baba had me at fifteen, but it was not his choice. And yet, he cared for me unconditionally anyway. I suppose it just…moved me, that he dedicated so much of himself to me. But then, for the past three years, he and Grayson have been trying to conceive, and none of their pups have survived. He miscarried all four of them, the last one being just two weeks ago. So, I just…it’s not…” 

“You thought about how, since he had you but hasn’t been able to have pups since, that might happen with you”, Jon finished for him, and Damian reluctantly nodded. 

“I had no interest in raising children; they are a distraction and an irritation. But after everything Baba has been through, from kitting me because he was assaulted, to actually trying to start a family but not being able to, it just made me feel…guilty. I have a chance to have a pup, but if I have it, it might hurt him.” 

All Jon could do was blink in astonishment. Damian wasn’t the type to confess his issues and concerns, but he appreciated that the other trusted him enough to be his confidant. 

Either way, that confession posed as a problem, and he eventually replied, “If we keep it, we’re gonna be in a lot of trouble. Like, grounded for life. We might be banned from being heroes, or the pup might be taken from us. I know I said before that I wasn’t sure if I wanted you to abort it, but…I think we should. Like you said, we have a mission. We can’t take care of a pup, Dami. We’re thirteen; half the time, we can’t take care of ourselves. It would just be selfish if we made it live with parents who, you know…don’t know what to do with it.” 

Damian screwed his eyes shut, and tilted his head away from Jon. “Do not say it like that”, he mumbled, crossing his arms subconsciously over his midsection, and the aquamarine-eyed boy heaved a sigh. 

He tossed the drying paper aside, and squeezed Damian’s shoulder. “Dami, you know I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m just being honest. Like you said, we aren’t ready for this. Not yet.” 

“But what if, for whatever reason, I want to have pups when I am a legal adult, but can’t? What if what happened to Baba happens to me? I might never get another chance.” Jon frowned thoughtfully. “You said he was resurrected in a Lazarus Pit, right?” Damian nodded mutely. 

“Okay. The effects of the Pit could have tampered with his body or something. It could have made it really hard for him to have pups. Plus, you said Talia experimented on him while he was expecting you so that you would only have Batman’s and her genetics. You’re related to Red Hood biologically, but not genetically. That could have messed up his body, too. If he could have you, but no others, it’s because of what she did to him. But she never did anything like that to you. Wait...did she?” 

Damian scoffed, and shook his head. “Of course not. I would have decapitated her before she could even sedate me”, he claimed, and Jon raised his hands in surrender, just so his friend wouldn’t grow agitated. 

“Okay, so that proves my point. She never did anything to you besides change up your DNA a little bit, so you have a better chance at having pups when you grow up.” 

A period of quietude fell between them, with Damian staring at the dirty floor with glossy, emerald eyes while Jon waited patiently for a response. 

He yawned widely; it was way too late for this shit, especially when it came to the subject matter, but he wasn’t bailing on Damian. He was going to stay until his crush made his decision, and would try to support it, even if he didn’t wholeheartedly agree with it. 

The little Omega, without warning, buried his face in the crook of Jon’s neck, and the Alpha instinctively propped his chin on the crown of the other’s head, looping his sinewy arms around the petite, yet muscular form. Damian’s shoulders were trembling, but he wasn’t crying; just panicking silently. 

Damian inhaled Jon’s familiar scent of apple-cider and spices, and whispered into that ridiculously-soft Winter coat, “I cannot get rid of it.” 

Jon processed what he said, breathing quickening a little. Fuck, they messed up so goddamn badly, and having this pup would definitely soil their reputations and betray their trust with both the Justice League and the Teen Titans. 

But, he remembered that this unborn baby was inside Damian, not him. It was Damian’s body, so it was Damian’s choice, even if it was irresponsible. He knew Damian supported the pro-choice movement depending on the circumstances, but this must be a situation where he just couldn’t insert his rules. 

“Despite both of us acting irresponsibly to end up in this situation, I understand if you do not want to associate yourself with me anymore. You are the son of Superman; you cannot afford for your reputation to be tarnished. I can say that it is someone else’s pup. You…you do not have to be a part of this.” 

Jon scoffed, appearing genuinely offended. Did Damian honestly think that lowly of him? 

He loosened their hug to clasp the shorter boy’s shoulders tightly, and stated firmly with his jaw clenched, “I will NOT leave you to do this on your own. That’s not what a hero does. A hero takes responsibility for their mistakes, and helps fix them. Our choices were a mistake, but this pup isn’t, and neither are you. Did you really think I’d be selfish enough to abandon you? Does it…does it seem like I would?” 

That final question was uttered, as if he was beginning to contemplate his past actions, when Damian sighed through his nose. 

“…No. I know you are not the type to abandon this. I just wanted to give you an opportunity to. I, as you know, am not experienced in proper…interaction, you could say. I will try to improve in that, for this baby. Heh, now I somewhat know what Baba must have felt.” 

Jon whimpered sympathetically, and pulled Damian back in for another hug. He practically cradled him in his hold, nuzzling his cheek and jawline, ignoring the other’s quiet, half-assed protests. At this point, some clubbers were probably wondering why two teenagers were huddled in a stall for about an hour, but he couldn’t give two shits. 

The ebony-haired boy hesitantly lowered his hand towards Damian’s stomach, but halted until he was granted permission. Damian’s cheeks flared the shade of cherry blossoms from embarrassment, and he was forever grateful that the lighting was dim, so hopefully, Jon didn’t notice. 

Judging by his ghost of a smirk, he likely did. Fuck. 

He nodded again, and Jon ever-so-slowly spider-webbed his fingers across Damian’s stomach. It was still flat, aside from a slight softening of his muscles, and he admitted under his breath, right into the shell of Damian’s ear, “I’m scared.” 

Shockingly, the other agreed, “As am I”, without hesitation. 

“This is a bad idea. A really bad idea”, Jon added, pressing his cheek against Damian’s. His companion leaned into him, and whispered in return, “I know. But, if our families cannot accept it, we can always leave.” 

The fellow thirteen-year-old’s brain short-circuited, and he stuttered, “W-what?” 

Damian quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“There is a possibility that they will not condone this. If they do not, then I am not staying in a place where I will be ridiculed. I will leave, and not associate myself with them. I am perfectly capable of living on my own; I have done it before, so I can do it again. Are you prepared to come with me if they do not accept it?” 

Jon hesitated. 

Goddamnit, this was all happening way too fucking fast, he was getting mental whiplash all over again. Of course, being the optimistic, kind-hearted soul that he is, he promised, “Yeah. Yeah, of course I am.” But, he didn’t fully accept this. In fact, he was partially opposed to this. 

They couldn’t raise a baby as newly-presented teenagers without financial and moral support. To be honest, he was perplexed as to why Damian wasn’t taking those factors into account. Maybe he was too overwhelmed, which was understandable since he was the one with a pup growing inside him, but Jon wasn’t ready for this. 

He missed being a kid. 

He missed not having to make devastating choices and decisions like this. It made him feel a bit melancholy, actually. Everything was so easy then, wasn’t it? 

And now, he and Damian were growing up far too quickly, and Jon had a hunch that everything would backfire terribly. 

Sometimes, he despised being right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are Damian and Jon planning to do from here? Will they try to hide the pregnancy, or run away? Will Damian's Baba figure them out? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	3. What Have I Done, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason deals with the loss of his fourth pup, and then is given an Earth-shattering piece of news from Damian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentioned miscarriage(s), depression and teenage pregnancy. If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> I'm shocked by how much attention this has gotten so far, but it's very much appreciated! I wanted to update once a week for a consistent schedule, but after I finish a chapter, I can't restrain myself sigh. So, here's another one! 
> 
> "Some People Have Real Problems" and "You Should Be Sad" will be updated soon. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Channel surfing was a newfound hobby of his. 

Perhaps it was triggered by the incapacitating desolation, but he wasted his mornings, evenings and midnights on flicking rapidly through television channels. He never stayed on a program for more than sixty seconds or so, his glazed, cobalt-blue eyes focused on the center of the screen, and nothing else. 

Basketball matches to psychology documentaries; sugarcoated fantasy films to tragedian comedies. His interest didn’t mesh with any genre or topic for long, but this was an operation. 

It was a grueling process, but sluggishly productive nonetheless. With each passing day, he gained some closure, though this particular afternoon had been downright horrendous. 

His stomach had been wayward for three weeks, but hadn’t lurched at the sight of chamomile tea and peanutbutter toast. In fact, his appetite had increased tenfold when the sugary aromas slid up his nose. And then, he bit into the nosh, and was puking five minutes later. 

According to his therapist, his Omega instincts were on overdrive, scrambling his hormones and flipping his immune system functions upside-down. Apparently, it would all fix itself with time and a chockfull of support (along with his recently-prescribed antidepressants), but he wasn’t confident about that. He wasn’t suicidal; he couldn’t imagine harming himself when his life was finally becoming stable. 

But, he definitely wasn’t on the greener side of the fence. 

Obsessively changing channels on his flatscreen TV was an unhealthy coping mechanism, but he was forcing himself to halt his remote-mashing every now and then to acknowledge his partner and/or the elephant in the room. 

Despite him hacking up a meal yet again, he finally came to terms with the fact that he had miscarried for the fourth time, and that that was his last pregnancy. 

No more bloodied bathroom floors. 

No more frequent hospital visits. 

No more whispered condolences. 

No more intimacy under the sheets without protection and birth-control. 

No more mourning. 

Jason had a terrible habit of dancing around his issues, but eventually addressing them was beneficial for him, even if it stung emotionally. He was planning to have an IUD inserted in a week, after he and Dick agreed that as much as they wanted children that were just theirs, they couldn’t go through this again. 

The nursery adjacent to their bedroom was packed up, the crib disassembled and all baby supplies repackaged. They would probably save it in the storage space downstairs in case any of their friends or family had a pup, but all he cared about was removing those reminders from his apartment. 

All of his miscarriages had been like a sucker-punch to the teeth, but this last one had been downright devastating. Unlike the others, who didn’t make it past ten weeks, this pup had managed to touch the eighteenth week mark. 

And then, was unintentionally evicted from his womb. 

Jason had felt his unborn son kick feebly against his calloused palms, and occasionally roll over in his belly. He had been so goddamn excited, and then the universe fucked him over for the millionth time. 

Of course, he was naturally anxious that Dick would reject their bond, divorce him, and shack up with an Omega who was fertile and feminine, but his Alpha had made it painstakingly clear that he only needed Jason. 

And so, Damian would always be his only offspring (unless he adopted), but Jason couldn’t complain about that. He may have been assaulted, experimented on, and birthed him as a teenager, but Damian was everything to him. 

Because of the complexity of his situation, he and Bruce shared joint custody, with Bruce housing Damian during weekdays while Jason had him on weekends. 

As much as Jason wanted him here everyday, Damian was Bruce’s soldier, and was securer in the Wayne Manor anyway. Jason and Dick were financially stable and resided in a relatively-quaint area of Gotham City (Dick had wished to remain in Blüdhaven, but had returned to Gotham for Damian’s sake), but their alternate personas as Nightwing and Red Hood were dangerous. 

Unlike Batman and Red Robin, who operated on the frontline, Nightwing and Red Hood worked undercover a majority of the time, shrouded by mystery and the darkness of warehouses. 

Unsurprisingly, Jason was the more rambunctious of the two, and had no problem bashing enemies’ faces in while Dick collected information, but only if necessary. He had a tendency to go overboard and land people in the emergency room, so he and Dick tried their best to work quietly and discreetly. 

At this point, Jason was growing peckish for some action after spending the last three years repeatedly pregnant and miscarrying, but not quite yet. Besides, it was a Friday evening, so Damian should arrive any minute, and he didn’t want to waste his weekend on trivial missions when his precious pup was here. 

“I’ll be gone for a few hours on a patrol with Artemis. I should be back at around 11:00. Are you feeling okay now?”, Dick questioned, approaching the leather coach and dropping down next to his husband. 

Jason smirked playfully, and smashed their lips together without warning, grazing his warm tongue along his Alpha’s teeth.

When they separated, panting and flustered, Jason asked smugly, “Does that answer your question?” Dick returned the smirk, and hooked his fingers under Jason’s thighs, lifting the charcoal-haired boy into his lap. When their lips connected once more, Dick swore his longtime partner tasted like literal heaven. 

Unlike a majority of Omegas, who were petite and dainty and girlish, Jason was their polar opposite. He towered over half of the Alphas on the streets at a whopping 6’2, which may not sound too tall, but was when compared to fellow Omegas. 

He was taller than Dick by four inches, which the older vigilante secretly enjoyed, and his physique was pure, Herculean muscle. Masculine, confident and opinionated, Jason wasn’t stereotypical, and his sheer level of confidence made strangers usually mistake him for the Alpha in the relationship. 

Dick was immensely attracted to powerful Omegas like his, and made it evident in his frequent, yet cheesy compliments and romantic gestures. He accepted that he and Jason couldn’t have their own kids, and although this past loss had resulted in a couple screaming matches, they resolved their problems, as they normally do. 

It was no wonder Damian teased them about becoming a “boring, suburban couple.” 

Speaking of which, he was due to arrive any minute, so Jason straightened out his crumpled clothing and rolled his eyes when Dick complained, “Can’t we tell him to come a little later? We were just getting somewhere, pretty boy.” 

The twenty-seven-year-old hesitated, but then kissed Dick’s cheek. “As much as I like bein’ fucked in your lap, my son is a bigger priority. Sorry, Dickhead.” 

He faked an apologetic pout, and Dick corrected, “He’s our son, Jay. Just because he’s not mine biologically doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. I’m just waiting for him to, you know…not try and stab me every time we see each other.” 

Jason removed himself from Dick’s grasp, reluctantly shut off the television, and replied with exasperation, “For the last time, he doesn’t actually wanna stab ya’. He’s just overprotective. Eventually, I know I’ll find ya’ two nestin’ together or somethin’. He just threatens ya’ ‘cause that’s how he is with everyone. Have ya’ heard what he’s said ta’ Bats?” 

Dick chuckled, remembering how Damian had insulted Bruce about his height when they were first introduced. Despite his mature personality, he didn’t harbor a filter, which definitely came from Jason, who cursed like a sailor shot in the kneecap. 

Speaking of which, his husband released a string of curses when he tripped over Jamilat yet again (that was, by far, a better name than Dog), her lumbering frame purposely knocking into his feet to catch his attention. 

She nudged her food bowl, jowls curled back as she panted, and Jason scolded, “I just filled your bowl ten minutes ago! I swear, you’re gonna be more overweight than the average American by the end of this month.” 

“Which is why Damian is a vegetarian. You ever think of us becoming vegetarians too?”, Dick called as Jason yanked on his combat boots, and the twenty-seven-year-old visibly cringed. “Are ya’ fuckin’ kiddin’ me? I couldn’t last a week without meat. I don’t see how Dami does it. He says it’s ‘cause ‘animals are our equals.’” 

Dick shrugged, replying with, “I mean, he does have a cat, dog and whatever Goliath is. I wouldn’t be surprised if he replaced his little crush with a koala or something.” Jason launched Jamilat’s chew-toy at Dick’s head for that, and the twenty-nine-year-old managed to dodge right before it slammed into his cranium. 

“First off, our son is not a zoophile. And second, he’s too proud ta’ admit he’s got feelings for Superman’s kid. Have ya’ seen how he tries ta’ scent or court him, but then just ends up bein’ all awkward? It’s adorable.” Dick laughed, and was about to comment when there was a knock at the oakwood door. 

Jason walked up and unlocked it, frowning in confusion when he came face-to-face with Alfred. Normally, Tim escorted Damian to Jason and Dick’s household, so this was a rarity indeed. “Good evening, Master Jason”, the Beta greeted, bowing his head vaguely in a sign of respect. 

The taller of the two nodded in return, and noticed that Damian was standing behind Alfred, as if intentionally hiding from him. “Hey, Alfie. You don’t usually bring Damian here. Is Tim busy?”, Dick inquired, striding over to stand beside Jason in the doorframe. “Yes, he and Master Bruce have a mission in Canada until the end of the weekend.” 

“Then I better start my patrol. You wanna come with me, Dami?”, Dick offered, flashing him his signature grin that made any passerby swoon as if he were a celebrity. Damian lowered his emerald gaze, muttering, “No, I am fine here.” 

He picked up his backpack and pushed past the others, immediately heading to the couch to construct a nest while Jason observed him, brow furrowed in a mixture of concern and suspicion. 

He then glanced back to Alfred, and asked in a hushed voice, “What’s up with him? He smells upset.” Alfred frowned, peering over Jason’s shoulder to the newest Robin. “He hasn’t been feeling well as of late. In fact, he’s been bedridden a majority of the past two days. I suggest letting him relax until whatever bug this is passes over.” 

They chatted a bit more, and then Dick and Alfred exited together while Jason approached his son. He sniffed the air, immediately noticing that Damian was wearing an unnecessary amount of scent blocker patches. 

Well, he was a prideful type who panicked at anyone picking up on any weaknesses of any kind, so he could be wearing those to mask whatever flu-related sickness he had, but there was something…off. 

Something different about his scent and demeanor that Jason couldn’t quite place. 

Plus, the younger Omega was nesting, which was extremely rare and triggered booming alarms in Jason’s brain. Damian wasn’t experienced with it, so his nest of blankets, pillows and articles of clothing from his closest pack-mates was disorganized and disheveled. He ignored eye contact and conversation, opting for focusing on his temporary bed and hunkering down into it. 

Jason frowned, leaned over, and kissed the crown of Damian’s head, scenting him in the process. “Ya’ feelin’ okay? Alfred told me you’re sick”, his parent informed him, and Damian’s pupils dilated. “I am fine. It is just a bug I caught from one of the Titans. They never wash their hands after missions.” 

Although that was true, Jason didn’t buy the reason. But, he didn’t wish to debate over speculations, so he switched the subject with, “I’ve got some leftover pasta salad from last night. That should be easy on your stomach, yeah?” 

Damian nodded, purring when Jason nuzzled his cheek in an action of reassurance. 

When he returned with a bowl of vegetables and pasta, Damian seemed a little seasick, but accepted the dish anyway. Jason sat down and expanded the nest so they could huddle beside each other, though Damian inched away just slightly. 

Despite the ridiculous number of scent blocker patches, Jason caught a whiff of distress from the other, but didn’t mention it. He was probably down in the dumps because he managed to catch a stomach flu in the middle of April. 

Or, at least, that’s what he claimed to have. 

They talked about subjects that they wouldn’t remember tomorrow; mostly over mission briefings and Bruce having a pole so far up his ass, it stuck out of his mouth. Eventually, when he had swallowed down about half of the pasta salad, Damian admitted quietly, “I saw that the nursery is entirely packed up. Are you planning on selling the contents?” 

Jason winced, but then schooled his expression and shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Nah, I’m gonna put everythin’ downstairs. Save it in case one of our pack-mates has a pup. Or, I could save it till ya’ have your own. When you’re an adult, and you’ve got a good thing goin’ with someone, I want grand-babies. It doesn’t have ta’ be a shit-ton of litters, but I want a couple so I can spoil them.” 

He said all of it in a joking tone, but Damian seemed to physically deflate, and burrow further into his circular pile of quilts. Jason brushed a few of his obsidian bangs aside, and said, “Hey, I’m just messin’ with ya’. Ya’ don’t have ta’ have pups. Besides, when it comes ta’ me, all I need is ya’, Habibi.” 

The charcoal-haired man extended an arm to pull Damian into a hug, but the thirteen-year-old lurched away, partially spilling his pasta in the process. Jason’s cobalt-blue eyes hardened; there was something extremely off with this picture, but what? 

Damian always reciprocated hugs and cuddles when it came to the two of them. They were practically attached at the waist, for fucks sake. 

What was changing? 

“What’s up with ya’? Are ya’ goin’ inta’ Heat? If ya’ are, I’ll give ya’ your space, but it’s best to nest with other Omegas when ya’ are”, he reminded Damian, and the olive-skinned boy immediately snapped, “I am not going into Heat! Mine has already passed! I’m just not feeling well! Stop coddling me!” 

Jason growled a warning in his throat, and when Damian registered his outburst, he hesitantly bared his neck in submission, a tad ashamed. His parent leaned in to scent him a second time to relax him, but halted halfway to his shoulder. His eyes widened a fraction. 

“Dami, ya’ need ta’ tell me what’s goin’ on. I can tell when you’re hidin’ somethin’, and your scent is off. Ya’ can talk ta’ me, Habibi. Ya’ know that”, he promised, continuing to pet Damian’s hair while said teenager swallowed nervously. He fidgeted with his sweatshirt sleeve, and murmured, “If I tell you, you may reject me.” 

Jason scoffed, utterly floored. He pressed his forehead against Damian’s, and whispered firmly, “I would never reject ya’, no matter what ya’ do. But ya’ need ta’ tell me if somethin’ is goin’ on. I can tell you’re feelin’ off, baby boy. Just talk ta’ me. I’m here ta’ listen.” 

His encouragements did fuel Damian’s withering coolheadedness. “Do you promise not to tell anyone until I am ready for others to know?”, he inquired, and Jason nodded, but remarked teasingly, “What, did ya’ rob a bank or somethin’? Whatever ya’ have ta’ tell me can’t be too bad.” 

Damian grimaced. 

He climbed out of the nest, straightened out his clothes, and stood in front of Jason as if he were on the verge of informing him that he had terminal cancer. A sense of dread washed over the vigilante, but he crossed his arms and waited patiently for Damian to speak. 

His son cleared his throat a few times, breath hitching as he internally berated himself for not just confessing what’s been weighing on him. Jason tapped his pointer finger on his forearm, continuing to wait. 

After what felt like literal millennia moving slower than crystallizing molasses on a heated plate, Damian started it with, “You are not going to like it. Even if you support it, I know you will not like it.” 

Jason’s hackles bristled involuntarily, and he demanded, “What aren’t ya’ tellin’ me? Spill, Habibi.” 

The words were lodged in Damian’s throat, and sweat accumulated on his shoulder-blades, dampening his sweatshirt and undershirt. 

If his Baba reacted badly, he would have no choice but to do this on his own (with Jon’s aid, of course). 

Eventually, he sighed heavily, and his confession was like a titanium smack to the face: 

"I'm pregnant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Jason react to Damian's news? Will Damian decide to keep his pup, or not? Stay tuned to find out! (Sorry, not sorry for the cliffhanger). 
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	4. What Have I Done, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason reacts to Damian's pregnancy announcement. Drama and words of wisdom are exchanged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Discussion of past/current teenage pregnancy, abortion and adoption. If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> I know I already said this, but I can't thank you all enough for reading my dumpster-fire writing and leaving kudos, comments and bookmarks! They're very much appreciated! Also, I guess you can expect me to be updating this story a lot, because I'm not feeling a whole lot of inspiration for the others. They'll be continued soon haha. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Once upon a time, Damian was punished as a toddler for catching fireflies in a jar instead of smashing them between his palms. 

With tiny fingers still chubby from gradually shedding off newborn weight, he curled them around those sentient lanterns and dropped them into a glass jar he had borrowed from the kitchens. 

Scampering around the appalling paradise that was Infinity Island, he had managed to unintentionally hide in plain sight from the guards, chasing down fireflies in the shelter of imported, tropical plants of every conceivable shape, height, size and shade. 

When Talia slinked up behind him and whacked the jar from his hands, Damian had panicked as the glass exploded across the dampened grass, freeing the fireflies that had been hovering inside. At first, he had been convinced that she had been livid with him because he had captured the glowing insects. 

But then, she had leapt over him like a leopard charging to their victim, and had smacked every single firefly to the ground in one flexible movement. 

They were flicked hard enough to be stunned, minuscule legs twitching and wings fluttering while Damian stared down at them, perplexed and frightened. Talia had ordered him to either suffocate them between his middle finger and thumb, or stomp on them until their bioluminescent innards were smeared across the jungle. 

Like a majority of three-year-olds, he had refused, pouting and glaring up at her. His “misbehavior” earned him a smack to the mouth, and a warning of, “Any life that is remotely fragile does not deserve to thrive. If you ever disobey me again, I will force you to kill a creature far weaker than these, if it means making you a warrior.” 

And then, she killed them. 

That night, he crawled onto his cement slab of a mattress with a busted lip, and had whined for his Baba’s attention. But, Jason had been too battered and weakened from another day of training with no recesses to respond, and had merely growled at him before curling up against the wall. 

All Damian had wanted was a nightlight, but Talia had forced him to slumber in darkness. 

He never searched for a nightlight after that evening, but in all honesty, he wished he had one tonight. Aside from a streetlamp beaming in through the window and an overhead light in the hallway, the apartment was darkened, and his Baba hadn’t responded to Damian’s news yet. 

The thirteen-year-old had cracked and explained everything, from him and Jon coaxing each other into having sex in their underwater headquarters, to almost having an abortion in a nightclub bathroom. 

It was never a good sign when Jason gave a person the silent treatment. In fact, his enemies had learned to scramble away with their tails between their legs when Jason didn’t speak for more than five minutes, and Damian considered it when a question pierced the eerie silence: 

"Are ya' fuckin' serious?" 

Damian visibly flinched at the firmness of that inquiry, and parted his lips to explain further when Jason raised a hand, automatically shutting him up. 

His cobalt-blue eyes were directed to the floorboards, and he processed Damian’s information a minute more before asking with a hint of disbelief, “So, you’re tellin’ me that, after bein’ so responsible your whole life, you’re now pregnant with not just anyone’s pup, but a pup from Superman’s kid?” 

The emerald-eyed boy nodded. 

“And ya’ stole pills from Leslie’s clinic ta’ have an abortion in a nightclub bathroom, but then bailed on it?” 

Another nod. 

Jason leaned forward on the couch, rubbed a hand slowly down his narrow face, and finished his interrogation with, “And you’re plannin’ ta’ somehow raise this kid alone if no one supports ya’? Dami, I love ya’ more than anythin’, and I’m here for ya’, but what the actual fuck?” 

The spicy stench of anger, like thousands of opened pepper bottles, made Damian scrunch his nose in distaste, but it was mellowed by the rainy scent of disappointment, which worsened everything. 

He hugged his midsection subconsciously, and swallowed audibly before hesitantly explaining, “No, Kent would raise the pup with me. You make it sound as if I am not planning ahead, but I have been planning since I decided to keep him or her. Besides, you were able to support yourself when you were close to my age.” 

Jason stood up faster than Damian could blink, and the younger internally swore that he could spot fire smoldering in those pupils. 

There was a humorless laugh, and Jason exclaimed, “No, I was stealin’ tires and gaslightin’ people inta’ thinkin’ they were worth more than they were! That money only got me two meals a week and a toothbrush, without actual shelter! I’m not lettin’ ya’ run off ‘cause ya’ wanna raise this baby by your immature terms! You’re too young!” 

Damian, well…didn’t have an immediate snarky response to that. Instead, he opted for sitting in the leather armchair near the television, waiting. 

The older Omega pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed, “What’re the odds that I’m ready for another pup, and I can’t have one, while ya’ shouldn’t be havin’ a kid, but ya’ are?” 

For some reason, that triggered Damian, and his comment was a declaration that his filter had been tossed out the metaphorical window: “Now you just sound envious.” 

Jason’s hackles bristled, and he snarled loudly, “Never fuckin’ say that again, ya’ hear me? I’m not envious; I’m laughin’ at this shit luck. Dami, a lot goes inta’ havin’ a pup, especially at your age. For fucks sake, you’re younger than me when I had ya’!” 

Damian glared steely at him, and growled defiantly, “You cannot force me to abort it. I tried, and I could not bring myself to do it. I want to have it.” 

Jason seemed like he wanted to blow a fuse, but controlled himself with the breathing technique Dick had taught him. Inhaling slowly, his shoulders then sagged, as if he were a deflating balloon. 

“I’m not gonna force ya’ ta’ abort it, but I highly suggest it. Pups are a lot of responsibility, and as mature as you’ve been, I don’t think you’re ready for that responsibility yet. So, I really think ya’ should have an abortion in a clinic, and I’ll be there with ya’ the whole time. You’re not ready for this, Habibi. Not yet.” 

The ebony-haired boy whimpered under his breath, and twisted his calloused fingers into his sweatshirt sleeve, clutching it tightly. He didn’t want to trigger his Baba further by voicing his concerns on conception, but he may never have another chance. 

So, he whispered, “But what if…what if I want a baby? What if this is my only chance to have one? You had me at fourteen, but then could not have pups after. What if that happens to me?” 

Jason frowned sympathetically, and knelt down onto his haunches in front of his son. 

He brushed some of Damian’s bangs aside, and insisted, “That won’t happen ta’ ya’. Look Dami, ya’ think ya’ want a pup, but you’re just caught up in your headspace. You’re too young; even if ya’ don’t abort it, your chances of carryin’ ta’ term are low. It’s dangerous. And, when it comes ta’ ya’ havin’ this big plan ta’ raise it with Jon if no one accepts it, well…I hate ta’ break it ta’ ya’, but it’s not gonna work.” 

Damian opened his mouth to object, but Jason interrupted him. “You’ll have electric bills; water bills; gas bills; not ta’ mention lots of bills for proper childcare. How are ya’ gonna earn money for any of that?” 

The thirteen-year-old’s glare resurfaced, and he stated through gritted teeth, “I am plenty qualified to work in any field, Baba!” 

“No one’s gonna hire an arrogant, pregnant thirteen-year-old, no matter how qualified ya’ are! I know that’s harsh, but it’s the truth! And when it comes ta’ Jon, eight-times-out-of-ten, the Alpha bails with some shit excuse after the first diaper change in a situation like this!” 

Damian shouted, “I am certain he will not leave me!”, and Jason barked back, “Ya’ can’t prove that! Just…listen, Damian. Please.” Hearing his parent beg caused Damian to fall mute, lips involuntarily quivering as he nodded. 

For a minute or two, Jason mulled over how to say this, and then squeezed Damian’s shoulder, bitten nails digging into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“This is sudden and unexpected, for both of us I’m sure, along with Jon. Right now, your hormones and instincts are on overdrive, so ya’ naturally want ta’ have this pup and raise it. But, once it gets here, if ya’ try ta’ raise it as a teen parent by yourself, no one’s gonna hire ya’. It’s just not how the world works.” 

Damian wanted to lean into the comforting touch, but shoved Jason’s hand off instead. 

He shifted away from him, spine pressed firmly to the armchair, and replied, “Perhaps for you, but I know what I am doing. Even if Jon changes his mind, I can do it. If Father and the others do not accept it, I can do it without their stupid pity.” 

Jason scoffed, genuinely dumbfounded at this frankly childish behavior. 

“Do ya’ even hear yourself? Habibi, you’re thirteen; you’ve got a whole life ahead of ya’ that’ll have ta’ go on hold if ya’ have this baby. It’ll change all your future plans. You’ll have ta’ adjust to a pup’s schedule. No more goin’ out every night as Robin with Bats or the Titans. Dami…unlike me, ya’ have options. Please consider them.” 

Damian quirked an eyebrow, and tilted his head like a curious canine. He averted his shimmering gaze, and murmured, “Are you implying that if you had been allowed to have an abortion, you would have aborted me?” 

That was a complicated question with a complicated answer, and the twenty-seven-year-old sighed heavily for the millionth time tonight. 

He wracked his fingers through his charcoal hair, and reluctantly confessed, “…Yes. Yeah, I would’ve, if I hadn’t known how amazing you’d turn out ta’ be. Now, I’m glad I didn’t because our lives are better now, and you’re everythin’ ta’ me. But, my situation was very different from yours. Ya’ know that.” 

Goddamnit, he had an exemplary point. And yet, when his eyes began to water against his will, he choked out, “…I want to have it. Please.” 

Jason rubbed his tired eyes, skimming through scenarios in his brain before finally asking, “How far in are ya’?” Damian checked his calendar on his phone, and settled on, “Eleven or twelve weeks. Why?” 

“Bein’ pregnant at your age is really, REALLY hard. There’s bitchy kids that’ll bully ya’; it’ll take its toll physically once ya’ start showin’. Do ya’ think ya’ can handle that?” 

Damian immediately nodded, and promised, “Yes, I believe I can. Thank you.” 

Jason shook his head, replying sternly, “Nah-uh, I’m not done yet.” Damian’s blossoming smile withered away. 

His Baba crossed his muscular arms, and informed him, “Ya’ can have this pup; shove it down the waterslide and everythin’. But, ya’ can’t keep it.” 

The younger Omega’s eyes widened owlishly, and his throat tightened as he whimpered, “What do you mean?” “When ya’ kit, ya’ have ta’ put your pup up for adoption. It can be open so ya’ know what’s goin’ on, but I’m not lettin’ ya’ go through what I did.” 

Damian blinked, the astonishment burrowing into his bones and triggering his scent gland to release distressed pheromones. He cringed at his body’s natural reaction, and chuckled emptily, “Would it be petty if I guilt-tripped you by saying that your statement makes it sound like raising me was horrible?” 

Jason huffed a laugh, and clicked his tongue nonchalantly. “Oh, it was horrible. Ya’ were a little hellion, climbin’ on shit and pissin’ Talia off and always hungry. But, ya’ turned out fine, so I’m satisfied with what I’ve done. As for ya’, ya’ have ta’ put it up for adoption, no matter if Bruce and the others accept it or not. Understood?” 

Rather than agree to that arrangement, Damian mused worriedly, “What if Jon leaves me if I put it up for adoption? He already knows I’m pregnant, but what if he leaves?” 

Jason cupped his cheek, and flashed him a reassuring, yet vaguely-sinister smirk. “Then I’ll fuckin’ kill him”, he vowed, and Damian almost laughed, but wasn’t energetic enough to allow it to surface. 

His distress continued to radiate throughout the apartment, to the point where Jason considered opening the windows. And then, he heard a whispered, “…I can’t put it up for adoption.” Jason emitted calming pheromones to relax his pup, and petted his hair in a repetitive motion. 

“I know it hurts, Habibi. Ya’ feel attached ‘cause of this shit situation. But, it’s for the best, for ya’ and your pup. Like I said, it can be open so ya’ know they’re okay, but you’re not keepin’ it. Do ya’ hear me?” 

Damian screwed his eyes shut, startled at how close he was to bawling his goddamn eyes out and flooding the building with his tears. But, he restrained himself, and nodded once more before whispering, “I’m sorry, Baba. I really am.” 

“Well, I’m not gonna say it’s okay ‘cause it’s not, but I’m not gonna forgive ya’ ‘cause you’ve got nothin’ ta’ be forgiven for. Ya’ acted on instinct; your body did what it thought it had to…it was consensual, wasn’t it?” 

The teenager rolled his haunting eyes that reminded him of Talia, and he stiffened slightly. “Of course it was”, he promised. 

Jason smiled, continuing to pet Damian’s hair to ground both his son and himself. “Okay, that’s good. We’ll start plannin’ tomorrow and tell the others. In the meantime, I think we both deserve a night of no more drama. Ya’ still inta’ 'Casablanca?'" 

“Yes, I am. It is growing a bit old since I have viewed it multiple times with both you and Father, but I would not mind watching it one more time.” Jason pulled Damian into a hug, wrapping his arms around the petite form protectively and securely. 

Damian relaxed into that incredible smell of ambrosia and brownies, blinking his tears away. They stayed huddled on the floor for an indecipherable amount of time, hugging and purring at each other in their own familial language. 

“Alright. I love ya’, Habibi. So goddamn much. Don’t forget that I’m here for ya’, okay?” Damian replied quietly, “Alright. I love you too, Baba.” Jason kissed the crown of his head, and nuzzled into his feather-soft hair, catching a trace of the unborn pup’s foreign scent. 

It bothered him, but he didn’t allow his unease to rear its malformed head. He just kept cradling Damian and purring to him, even when the other squirmed in protest. 

Why did he have a dreadful feeling that Damian wasn’t going to fulfill their agreement?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is Jason convinced that Damian may not listen to their agreement? Where will their familial relationship go from here? Who will find out about Damian's pregnancy next? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	5. Party Like It's Your Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon convinces Damian to go to a party with him. It backfires horribly, and may or may not end in heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy (obviously). If you are sensitive to that, please do not read! 
> 
> Thank you for the comments, kudos and bookmarks! My other stories will be updated very soon. 
> 
> Enjoy.

"If you ask me again, I will tear out your spine and shove it up your urethra." 

The first time Damian threatened Jon was the moment he fell head-over-heels for him. No, he wasn’t interested in verbal masochism; he was just starstruck by the sheer confidence radiating off of his person. Like his Baba, Damian presented himself as an Alpha despite his abnormally-petite size, head held high and expression neutral (unless his passion seeped through). 

But, much to Jon’s disappointment, that threat wasn’t directed to him but to Garfield, who immediately seized up in caution. Damn, was that an anticlimax. But, Damian had been short-tempered with everyone as of late, partially due to disordered hormones from his immune system pumping all the nutrients he digested to the fetus growing inside him. 

That made him hungry literally 24/7, which pissed him off because he had to follow his routine diet (until he announced his pregnancy to the Bat Family, which was destined to be a shit-show) that consisted mainly of fiber and protein. 

Damian wanted calcium. 

God-fucking-damnit, he was craving calcium like a malnourished beggar, and it constantly nagged at the edges of his psyche. 

In fact, he had ranted to Jon for fifteen minutes last night during a patrol about how he daydreamed of a bowl of Cheetos slathered in melted American, Camembert and Cheddar cheese, topped with whipped cream and a vanilla milkshake mixed with cream cheese on the side. 

He was practically salivating like a rabid hyena by the time his rant was finished, and Jon had tried desperately to conceal his disgust. Granted, he enjoyed french-fries with tartar sauce instead of ketchup, so he couldn’t judge but…cream cheese in a vanilla shake? 

That was crossing the line, even for Jon’s wayward, expansive appetite. 

Then, there was the accumulation of issues such as increasing backaches, migraines, swollen joints and clothing becoming too tight. Oh, and a newfound sensitivity to smells. 

Thank fuck the morning sickness tapered off, because Jon had witnessed Damian slap a hand over his mouth and charge out of a room on more than one occasion over the fragrance of perfume or the smell of grilled steak. 

Nowadays, when he smelled something that suddenly repulsed him, he managed to reign back the nausea by controlling his breathing and biting his tongue hard enough to bleed. 

So, overall, the pair of misfits were doing a decent job of hiding Damian’s pregnancy for as long as humanly possible, but they were closing in on the end of the fourteenth week, and the smaller boy was beginning to show. 

The bump was small, but noticeable if Damian flattened his clothes against his torso. So, he stretched out his Robin uniform and purchased maternity clothes on his credit card (Bruce had no idea that it existed) to further conceal it. 

But, this pup must be big for their current gestational age, because Dr. Tompkins had confirmed after measuring his midsection that it was a bit rounder than expected. 

Of course, Damian had automatically panicked over somehow carrying twins, but Leslie had assured him that there was only one little parasite in there. Well, Jon didn’t enjoy calling him or her a “parasite”, but Damian had a collection of oddball nicknames for them, including “hellion” and “little shit” on a bad day. 

Jon, Damian, Jason and Leslie were the only people aware of this unplanned, surprise baby, and both Jason and Leslie had vowed to conceal it as long as Damian could, if he didn’t throw himself into unnecessary risks. 

That was asking a lot for someone who disobeyed every single order from Batman in his first two years as Robin, and still had an awful habit of tuning orders out to play on his own terms. 

But, the young Alpha knew for a fact that Damian loved this unborn pup, and was focused on them being born healthy and without complications. That was somewhat unlikely given how young and petite he was, but he was trying, which was all that mattered. 

Now, all Jon had to do was snatch up Damian’s cape and yank him away from Garfield if he decided to act like a vicious madman and scratch him (again). Apparently, the Titans were attending some underground rave downtown and had invited Damian, but the Omega outright refused. 

To be honest, Jon thought it sounded interesting, and despite being on-call, this was technically one of Damian’s only nights off for the next month. 

So, he whispered to Gar that he would convince Damian to join them, and the Beta nodded hurriedly before dashing off to change outfits and escape his leader’s radius. Once they were isolated, he scooped Damian up from behind, sinewy arms wrapped around his midsection and chin propped on the crown of his head. 

The smaller boy growled in annoyance, but was too invested in typing away on his laptop to smack Jon with an escrima stick. He trailed his nose through that obsidian hair, and remarked, “Your hair feels thicker. I like it.” 

Damian grunted in return, muttering after a minute of switching tabs on his computer, “It’s a symptom. Hair gets thicker and shinier during the second trimester due to hormonal changes. It’s a pain to wash.” 

Jon hummed, continuing to sniff him and slowly raising his hands up to remove Damian’s evergreen mask. Emerald irises glared up at him, and Jon said, “Don’t give me that look, Dami. I think you should come with us. My parents want me to socialize more, so I don’t have a curfew tonight, and you never had one to begin with. Just come with me; it’ll be fun, I promise.” 

“Koriand’r mentioned that you need a password to enter this underground nightclub scene. There is a chance that it could be controlled by criminal organizations such as Penguin’s. We cannot afford to be recognized in a place like that”, Damian countered, attempting to squirm from Jon’s hug, but his best friend had a gentle, yet ironclad hold. 

“Please, Dami? You never let yourself relax. It’s bad for the pup”, Jon claimed, lowering his hands again to cup the slight swell of the fellow thirteen-year-old’s belly. 

Damian blushed at such an intimate touch, and cleared his throat awkwardly before responding firmly, “You cannot prove that. Besides, would constant excitement and loud music and a chance of consuming alcohol or illegal substances possibly harm the baby? Yes. Yes, it would. And, I planned to look through more adoption agencies tonight. So, the answer is no.” 

Jon’s smirk dropped. 

He kept seeking distractions for himself to forget that they couldn’t keep a blossoming life that he and Damian created from scratch. His crush would have to deal with around six more months of nagging symptoms, only to kit and have their newborn swiped away. It wasn’t fair in the slightest, but somewhere deep inside, Jon knew it was for the best. 

It just…hurt. 

Jon leaned over Damian and shut his laptop, which earned him a snarl, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he tightened his hug, and nuzzled Damian’s unmarked scent gland. Goddamn, he wished he had bitten it when they had sex, but the repercussions were too severe right now. Perhaps someday, but not tonight. 

“I know parties aren’t really your cup of tea, but it’ll be fun. I promise it will. Come on, Dami; I’ll be there, which is the best part”, the Kryptonian promised, waggling his eyebrows playfully. 

Damian rolled his eyes in disapproval and thought for what seemed like eons, before finally mumbling, “Fine. But if you desert me, I will spare Logan the agony of having his spine ripped out, and instead do it to you. You may have accelerated healing, but a full recovery from a spinal stab to the urethra is unlikely.” 

Jon grimaced at the mental image, but metaphorically trashed it to escort Damian to the changing room. They switched into pedestrian clothing, only to be scolded by Kory when they joined the group at the Titans Tower entrance. 

“That is not proper dancing attire. Do you not have anything more colorful or exciting?”, she questioned, frowning disapprovingly at Damian’s outfit. 

The thirteen-year-old scowled up at her, and snapped, “I do not dance, and Jon is terrible at it. These are fine as they are.” Jaime shook his head with a mocking smile, and chuckled, “You’re gonna be such a wallflower, hermano. At least Jon isn’t wearing all black like some brooding goth.” 

Damian’s eyebrow twitched, so Jon quickly clutched his sweater sleeve and exclaimed, “Let’s go before we miss too much! You said it’s on the other side of Gotham, right? We should hit the road then!” 

Kory grinned and clasped her hands together, showcasing pearly, yet enlarged canines. She was as Alpha as they come, and was considered second-in-command after Damian (also because she was the oldest). 

Jaime and Jon were Alphas as well, while Raven, Gar and Wallace were Betas. So, Damian was stuck as the sole Omega, but at least nobody outwardly judged him for it. 

After ensuring that no one would spot them, Kory, Jaime and Raven rocketed into the darkening sky while Gar and Wallace raced each other down the labyrinth-like sidewalks. Jon picked Damian up bridal style, ignoring his protests and a grappling hook whacking him in the nose, and blasted off through the balmy, stagnant air. 

“You can’t deny that flying is awesome”, he laughed as Damian scrunched his nose from the wind smacking him in the face, and his best friend answered, “It most certainly is not when you risk being airsick. If I vomit, I’ll do so on you.” 

“Since when have you gotten airsick?” Damian clicked his tongue, and averted his gaze as he reluctantly confessed, “There was air turbulence a few nights ago while Father was flying. The leather seat may or may not have been ruined.” 

Jon slowed his speed a little since he really wasn’t in the mood to be puked on tonight, and suggested, “If you manage to not get sick on me by the time we get there, we can try and buy the ingredients for your weird cheese craving.” Damian immediately perked up at that, and nodded in agreement. 

Within fifteen minutes, they arrived, lowering down into an alleyway that smelled faintly of sweetened vodka. “Are you sure those two and Gar can go in? They’re pretty much pre-teens”, Raven pointed out, motioning to the three (Gar was fourteen). Kory smiled softly, and replied, “I believe they can, so long as they are responsible. No alcohol or drug consumption, and do not leave with someone you do not know.” 

Gar shot her a double thumbs-up while Damian scoffed in mild offense, but brushed it off to head inside. Kory stated some password that sounded like it was spoken backwards, and the towering guard adorned with silver jewelry stepped aside. 

He pushed open a titanium door decorated with a neon design that reminded Jon of the cover of Caravan Palace’s album “Robot Face.” Hm, not exactly original, but a nice touch. 

When they reached the end of the darkened corridor, it was like entering an alternate galaxy. Multicolored lights flashed across the walls, which were embellished with graffitied murals of foreign planets and solar-systems. 

To put it simply, it was fucking incredible, and Jon instinctively clasped Damian’s hand when their comrades dispersed, fetching refreshments or sliding into the massive crowds on the dance-floor. 

Kory waved to them before rushing over to someone neither thirteen-year-old recognized, and Jon commented, “It’s kinda like the aged-up version of prom.” He was elbowed in the ribcage for that, but much to his surprise, Damian didn’t yank his hand away. 

Instead, he intertwined his fingers with Jon’s, leaning into him as they navigated through the wonderland-like space. 

It was far cleaner than the nightclub they tried to perform the abortion in, but Damian was still uneasy, his unoccupied hand shoved into his sweater pocket, right over his belly. Jon picked up on his anxiety, and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay. If anything happens, I can solve it in no time.” 

“That sounds like false confidence”, the shorter boy mumbled, but Jon shrugged it off. He eyed the shifting physiques on the glowing dance-floor. Damian was correct: Jon was terrible at dancing, especially with coordination. 

But, if Damian was willing to join him, they could be idiotic together. 

And yet, when he parted his lips to ask his companion, the words became lodged in his throat. Would this be considered a date? 

Jon had made it his job to call every patrol and mission a date just to grate on Damian’s nerves, but this was different. Sure, they were on-call like always, but this was a chance to really be carefree as a—couple? Pair? Whatever label was appropriate, he supposed. 

“Do you, um…do you want to dance?”, Jon inquired, hope bubbling beneath his skin as those shimmering, emerald eyes flicked to him. Would their pup have those haunting eyes, or Jon’s aquamarine coloring? 

Of course, Damian killed the developing mood with, “No. As I said before, I do not dance. And, my back is hurting. Is there a chair anywhere in this chaotic place?” 

Jon sagged his shoulders in disappointment, but pointed to a velvet couch placed in the far corner. Damian wasted no time heading over to it, and dropped down as soon as he reached it. Propping a hand on his lower back to ease the growing ache aside, he said when Jon sat beside him, “You do not need to stay by me the entire time. Go find one of the Titans or make a new acquaintance. I’ll be waiting here until this is over.” 

“But sitting all alone is no fun. If you wanna stay here, I’m staying with you.” Damian growled low in his throat, hackles standing at attention as he hissed, “You’re even more of a nuisance than I thought. I do not need you leeching from me 24/7! Just go entertain yourself and stop following me around like some wayward toddler!” 

At first, Jon tried to sugarcoat that hostile behavior as another sudden mood swing, but when Damian released a threatening pheromone that reeked of smoldering tobacco, he flinched and flushed in humiliation. 

Fellow partygoers were glancing over to them, and continued to do so until Jon snapped, “Fine! This kinda stuff is funner without you anyway.” 

He stood and stormed off before Damian could respond, but all the Omega was focused on was preventing another muscle-constricting backache. Fuck, being pregnant sucked, and he somewhat wished he had someone he could relate to. 

Well, there was his Baba, but Damian didn’t like the awkwardness that sometimes permeated into their discussions on teenage pregnancy. Jason was open about it, but struggled to describe certain aspects on account of how traumatic his pregnancy and kitting had been. 

Damian heaved a sigh as he watched Jon head over to Gar and Wallace. Perhaps he displayed a bit too much hostility, but he was physically drained and emotionally exhausted and wasn’t in the mood to be hounded by the walking annoyance that was Jon Kent. 

Well, maybe that was going overboard, but whatever. He just wanted to go home and sleep for ten hours. 

“When are you going to tell the others about your condition? You can’t hide it forever.” 

Damian glanced up, and saw Raven standing over him, a bottle of water in her slender grasp. She passed it to him, and then sat beside him, a good few inches between them. Damian automatically stiffened, and questioned sternly, “What are you talking about?” 

Despite her emotionless façade, the indigo-haired girl rolled her shadowed eyes in exasperation, and replied calmly, “I know you’re with child. I can detect a person’s spirit, in case you’ve forgotten. Gar knows too, because of his heightened sense of smell.” 

Damian sputtered, and exclaimed, “Do the others know? Why did you not mention that you were aware of this sooner?” 

Raven shrugged, chewing on her peppermint gum while answering, “I’m respecting your privacy. You’ll tell the others when you’re ready, though I suggest doing it soon. Gar can only hold a secret for so long before he cracks.” That was a fair point, and Damian lowered his gaze to the vibrating floor (the electronic music was obnoxiously loud). 

“Thank you”, he muttered, and Raven nodded in return. She removed a tissue from her leather jacket and spit her gum into it, rolling it up into a wad and disintegrating it with her fingertips. Hm, showoff. “Do you want to talk about it?”, she inquired softly, turning back to him, and the younger shook his head. 

“It’s just a result of foolishness. When he or she is born, they’ll be given away to a different family. It’s not something to cry over”, he murmured, fidgeting with his phone while Raven hummed in thought. 

“I can tell you’re lying. You don’t want to give away this pup because you’re afraid it may go to a dangerous home, and you’re growing attached. Adoption is probably for the best though.” 

“So everyone keeps saying”, Damian sighed, slumping back into the plush couch cushions. “Does your family know yet?”, the Beta questioned, and her leader replied, “Only my Baba and the family physician. The rest will be informed of it eventually when the time is right.” 

“Do you know if it’s male or female? I can tell you”, the ghostly-pale girl offered, gesturing to his midsection. He had been wondering about the gender as of late, but decided, “I’ll wait till my next appointment. Thank you for the offer.” Raven hummed again, and the smaller glanced to her. 

Unlike a vast majority of Betas, who didn’t have trademark, individual scents, Raven’s was cemented and detectable. The aroma of irises and spider-lilies followed her everywhere she went, which made Damian curious if she used to have a different second-gender. But, Raven was extremely private, so Damian didn’t pry. 

Everyone had their secrets, especially him. 

“You should go talk to Jon. It’s best to stay close to your mate during a time like this”, she suggested, tilting her head to the Kryptonian on the other side of the room. “He is NOT my mate. We did not bond”, Damian corrected her, crossing his arms defiantly, and Raven pursed her lips. 

“You didn’t mark each other, but you conceived a pup. According to my culture, that makes you two mates.” Damian’s frown deepened, and he looked at Jon. 

He didn’t consider Jon his mate or boyfriend, but…he didn’t want to think of him as just a one-night stand. There had to be more than that, right? 

Wordlessly, he rose to his feet and left Raven to her devices to approach Jon, who appeared to be taste-testing whiskey and cringing because of it. Damian hesitated, but then tapped his shoulder, and Jon almost spilled the drink by how fast he whipped around. 

His lighthearted demeanor soured when he saw Damian, and he opened his mouth when the Omega cut him off with, “I will dance with you on one condition.” “Okay?”, Jon said, and Damian told him, “I will dance with you if you agree to aid me in convincing Baba for us not to give up this pup.” 

The Alpha swallowed anxiously, and remarked quietly, “That’s a lot to ask just for one dance.” “Well, I thought that would be expected. You did make a baby with the son of a Wayne and an al Ghul”, Damian reminded him, quirking an eyebrow and having the audacity to smirk in such a way that it triggered a tremor up Jon’s spine. 

“You’re evil”, he hissed, but inched towards the dance-floor while Damian replied bluntly, “No, Talia is. I am just straightforward.” Jon’s cheeks flushed. 

Less than five minutes later, they kissed in the center of the warping, neon-tinted crowd. That hadn’t been on the agenda; it was a spur-of-the-moment action. 

Perhaps the marijuana being passed through the nightclub was a factor in their uncharacteristic behavior, but when Jon cupped Damian’s cheek and tilted his head down, said boy didn’t stop him. 

He reciprocated. 

They had feverishly made out during Damian’s Heat, but this was drastically different. They weren’t fueled by the uncontrollable drive to bond and breed. Instead, it was shy and coordinated, albeit a bit sloppy from a lack of practice. Their lips slotted together perfectly, like puzzle pieces clipping in place. 

Damian’s lips were sinfully plush, tasting of watermelon chapstick (he made a mental note to tease him about that later), and Jon suppressed a gasp building in his throat. 

Damian leaned into it, deepening it and grazing his tongue against pointed canines. They separated to breathe, and then dove back in, making out slowly and heatedly while strangers twirled and stumbled around them. 

Jon looped an arm around Damian’s waist, and panted, “Where did you learn to kiss like that?” “That is classified information”, was his best friend’s reply, and they launched back into it, holding each other as they kissed messily and hungrily. If any of their teammates spotted them, neither gave a shit. 

Damian whimpered when Jon halted their make-out session to trail his lips across his jawline, peppering it with open-mouthed kisses until he reached his neck. He applied kitten-licks to the sensitive skin, nipping at it while Damian’s hold on his shoulders tightened. 

When the young Alpha teased his scent gland, Damian gasped shakily, and melted into the touch as Jon returned to those beautiful lips and proceeded their session. 

They kissed and grabbed and swayed clumsily to the rhythm of the bass, existing within their own little, temporary fantasy. And then, Jon decided to act like a dumbass, and fucked it all up. 

His leader froze stiff as a board when that confession was whispered into the shell of his ear. It took Jon a couple seconds to register what he said, and then he froze too. 

“What did you say?”, Damian uttered, dropping his gaze and beginning to smell of distress rather than gardenias and chocolate-chip cookies. 

Jon licked his lips nervously, and scrambled for an explanation. When he couldn’t conjure up anything, he stuttered, “I-I said I love you…” 

At first, Damian seemed moved, but then his mesmerizing eyes darkened dangerously. His fingers detached from Jon’s shirt, and curled into white-knuckled fists at Damian’s sides. 

“No”, he stated, clenching his jaw and glaring up at him with enough malice to kill. 

“You do not love me, because I do not love you”, he admitted hissingly, and he weaved through the ocean of intoxicated dancers before Jon could grab him. From afar, Raven frowned in confusion, and Jon was left standing there, shellshocked and breathless. 

Suddenly, it felt as if every single pair of eyes were staring into his very core, mutely judging and objectifying him. His shoulders hunched self-consciously, and Jon’s throat tightened while his vision blurred. He may be an Alpha, but he was infamous for being passionate and emotional, so of course he was saddened over being rejected. 

They built a pup from the toes-up with their DNA, and Damian didn’t love him? 

He felt no affection for him whatsoever? 

None of it made any fucking sense. 

And with a combination of horror and embarrassment, he felt his cheeks warm up as something liquidly trailed down them, dripping onto his battered sneakers. 

He was crying, and Damian wasn't there to witness it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Damian and Jon continue from here? Did Damian mean what he said? How will Jon cope with it? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	6. Barking Dogs Never Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon copes with Damian not reciprocating his feelings. Meanwhile, Jason slips up and tells Dick something he wasn't supposed to know yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mention of teenage pregnancy and sex (towards the end). If you are sensitive to either of these, please do not read! 
> 
> Sorry this chapter took a few days. I'm just reconstructing parts of the plotline and all that jazz. Also, "Some People Have Real Problems" is a prequel story of sorts to this now, so the two stories are connected. Plot-holes will be filled soon. 
> 
> Enjoy.

This bedroom was childish. 

The ultramarine walls were embellished with airbrushed meteorites, emulsion constellations and psychedelic planets that took literal weeks to paint on. Mom had done a majority of it, given she was extremely talented in the artistic field, but Jon had scattered glow-in-the-dark stars across the ceiling to compensate. 

Despite being an aspiring hero, he was unsettled by darkness and preferred a nightlight of sorts. 

He wasn’t exactly proud of that necessity, and Damian had teased him relentlessly for it. 

Originally, Jon hadn’t paid Damian’s jabs much attention, but as he levitated in the center of his room as if he were in suspended animation, he realized just how innocent this bedroom appeared to be. 

He still had a collection of stuffed animals, and his comforter had dinosaurs imprinted on it. It was a bedroom for a toddler, and his hackles bristled in irritation. 

He used to adore this room and thought of it as a safe space, but because of recent revelations, it just felt…outdated. 

Jejune. 

Immature. 

Wrong. 

Jon directed a glare at the mural of Saturn on the adjacent wall, and wished that he could melt it like a wax figurine with his heat-vision, but that would destroy the wall in the process, and he wasn’t in the mood to be grounded. In fact, he desperately needed a therapy session with Mom (Dad was rescuing disaster victims in Qurac), but he was a pathetic liar. 

If he consulted with her, she would catch his twitching eyebrow (a tic that revealed when he was fibbing) in a heartbeat, and then discover his and Damian’s conundrum. 

Well, he could just comb his bangs over his forehead, but she would notice the style change. Goddamnit, why did she have to be such an amazing decipherer? It was no wonder she was the top journalist for the Daily Planet. 

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek, itching to call Damian and see how he was holding up. 

They had had their little debacle during that party two weeks prior, and Damian had hardly acknowledged his existence since then. But, in all honesty, him blocking Jon out wasn’t that atypical of him. 

Damian’s coping mechanism when it came to emotions was to pretend that he had no relation to his friends and family, despite the fact that he was carrying a baby that wasn’t just his, but Jon’s too. 

He grimaced; thinking about their pup always depressed him, because he desperately wanted to keep him or her, but knew they shouldn’t. 

Babies needed constant attention and security. Frequent scenting and nursing and carrying was required for pups to develop at a normal pace, and although Jon was a champion at affection, Damian, well…he sucked at it. 

Like, majorly sucked at it. 

(Once upon a time, Jon tried to hug him from behind after a successful mission, and Damian literally flipped him straight over his head and slammed him into the ground. It wasn’t pleasant). 

Besides, raising a pup so young would rob them of their own childhoods, though Damian didn’t technically have the privilege of being a regular kid. To break it down, it would just be one enormous cluster-fuck, and Jon couldn’t stand the idea of damaging their offspring’s wellbeing in any way. 

So, adoption was the beneficial choice, but Jon was beyond worried. 

He was struggling enough with losing a potential future, but how would Damian react? What if he put their baby up for adoption and then regretted it? What if he became depressed? Wait, could a thirteen-year-old suffer from postpartum depression? Oh god, what if it ultimately made him suicidal? He may be jaded and had an ironclad will, but what if he—

“Jonny, what’s going on? I could smell your distress from down the hall. Is everything okay?” 

Jon jolted from his growing list of scenarios, and glanced down to see Mom standing in the doorway, iron-gray eyes glimmering with parental concern. Jon lowered to the hardwood floor, and bit his bottom lip anxiously. 

“Yeah, everything’s good! I just, uh…I was thinking about stuff in my room that I wanna change up”, he stuttered, though that wasn’t technically a lie. Lois cocked her head, and examined his bedroom. “I think it looks fine. But, if you want to make some changes, I suppose we can. What do you have in mind?” 

Jon hesitated and rubbed the nape of his neck awkwardly. He couldn’t say “everything”, so he settled on, “My bed and lights. I, um, don’t need those glow-in-the-dark stars anymore.” For a single second, Lois frowned solemnly, but then perked up, showcasing her flattened canines in an award-winning smile. 

“Sure, we can do that. You’ll have to take them down though. I’m not about to break a leg climbing up a ladder when you can fly up”, she joked, and Jon flashed her a fake grin. 

She ruffled his overgrown, ebony hair, and commented, “You used to love those. You’re growing up so fast, my little Superboy.” 

“Mom, I’m not little! I’m 5’6!”, Jon exclaimed, batting her hand away and scowling rather childishly. Lois smirked, and walked back down the cluttered hallway, leaving Jon in his lonesome. 

His expression dropped and his shoulders sagged. Yeah, he was growing up, and for once, he prayed to every sham deity and fictional god that he could be a kid again. 

Everything was so easy then, wasn’t it? 

And then, his phone vibrated in his jeans, derailing him from falling into a trench of nostalgia. Plucking it out, he unlocked it and whimpered under his breath. Thank fuck Damian had constructed phones that only he and Jon knew about and used. 

They could text or call without their parents being able to examine their activity, because if they saw their messages, they would ground him from electronics until his forties. 

“This is my final warning: stop calling/texting me. Until you apologize for what you said to me during the party, I will not engage in conversation with you unless absolutely necessary. If you attempt to speak with me again without an apology, I will block your number. Don’t forget, I am perfectly capable of doing everything without you.” 

Jon scanned over the text and sighed; Damian really did talk like an irritable general sometimes. 

He was about to send “Okay. Sorry” in response, but halted, his thumb hovering over the button. 

The thirteen-year-old chewed on his pinkie nail for a minute (his cuticles had become so fucking damaged in the last week), and deleted that to type “I won’t say sorry for telling you how I feel. We’re in this together, and I love you. I know you feel the same way.” 

In less than thirty seconds, he was answered with “No, I do not. Do not contact this number again unless it is an apology for humiliating me by exaggerating your childish crush. Goodbye.” 

Frowning in consternation, he tucked away his phone solemnly and dropped down onto his disorganized mattress, smacking his Algebra homework aside. The action scattered the assignment across the shambolic floor, but Jon wasn’t keen on deciphering countless equations in his overwhelmed brain. 

Absentmindedly, he grazed his bitten fingertips over the main scent gland, situated in the crook of his shoulder. When he and Damian shared their first Heat and Rut in their underwater headquarters (it was a miracle their fathers hadn’t spotted them on the security footage), he had honestly never felt so fucking alive beforehand. 

If he had to explain his experience, he would use "The Wizard of Oz" as an example. When Dorothy awakens from an achromatic world to a dreamland drenched in every color on the spectrum, well…that’s what he felt happen when he and Damian kissed. 

It was as if he had been passing through each day in shades of black-and-whites without realizing it, but when their lips slotted together, a kaleidoscope of color consumed his vision. 

When they physically connected after that slapdash, yet thrilling escapade, it was as if he went from nothing to feeling everything in the span of a goddamn millisecond. 

He had plenty of tightly-knit friendships and growing bonds with the Titans, but none of those could ever hope to compete with the hurricane of emotions when Damian kissed him so softly, so innocently. 

Jon shuddered. He imagined those plush lips pressing against his again, that tongue shimmering like a prize and petite canines pinching his skin. 

But, his trip down memory lane was interrupted by Mom calling him for dinner, and he realized with a muffled shriek of humiliation that he was, well…having morning wood in the evening, so to speak. 

His cheeks flushed to the shade of cherries, and he buried his face into his pillow to scream his frustrations. Perhaps those couple hours with Damian were just a one-time incident, because they only halfway-mated. 

Right when he had lunged to bite his friend’s scent gland and claim him, Damian had spider-webbed his fingers over his face, forcing him to reign his desires in. 

To his defense, he was thirteen and acting on his uncontrollable hormones, which were steering him like a compass. When he smelled the fragrance of Damian’s Heat, he had allowed himself to go on autopilot, as did Damian. 

But, if he had to be truthful, he didn’t regret any of it. In fact, he wouldn’t mind doing that again, except that they would wait until they were at least seventeen, and use both protection and birth-control. 

Reliable protection and birth-control. 

Jon swallowed. He wished Damian had bit him, but it was better that he didn’t. Otherwise, they would be emotionally intertwined, and constantly seek the other’s attention. 

Maybe they could someday, but not now. 

Not tonight, not tomorrow. 

And if Damian never reciprocated his infatuation, well…they never will. 

....

“Harder! H-harder, harder! Come on, baby!” 

Vanilla sex wasn't Jason's forte. 

Dick preferred slowed, amazingly intimate carnal knowledge, where he would worship every inch of Jason’s fair, yet scarred skin and each chewed finger and the fluttering folds of his clit. 

He enjoyed licking and sucking between those plump, yet muscular thighs, overwhelmed with the flavor of ambrosia until he climaxed without even being touched. 

Sliding his cock into that tight, heated channel at a languid pace, listening to the symphony that was Jason’s moans and heavy breaths and sweet nothings and obscene curses. 

But, he wasn’t rewarded that indulgence often. In fact, his Omega only agreed to have casual, yet passionate sex when they were lovemaking, with the endgame being a bun in the oven. 

Tonight, conceiving a fifth time was strictly forbidden, so instead of lovemaking, they were simply fucking, according to Jason. 

Fortunately, Dick was talented at disheveled, uncoordinated, rushed intercourse as well, so he obeyed Jason’s whims under the bedsheets without question. 

Jason was currently being shoved up the mattress with the strength of Dick’s thrusts, calloused palms pressed against the headboard with his right leg hooked over his Alpha’s shoulder. 

He was practically begging for roughness, screaming Dick’s name when his breasts were assaulted again, the plush flesh groped and squeezed while experienced lips sucked on oversensitive nipples. When Dick pulled away from the reddened nub, a silver string connected him to it, and Jason salivated at the sight. 

“You feel so good, pretty boy. Gonna claim you again…f-fuck, gonna make you mine…gonna fill you up, beautiful”, Dick repeated as he slammed against those widened hips, desperately chasing after his orgasm while the headboard smacked against the wall and the bedsprings squeaked. 

Jason locked his legs around Dick’s waist when the coil in his lover’s stomach tightened, and he screamed, “Gonna cum, baby! G-gonna, gonna cum for ya’!” 

Just as those words escaped his mouth, he threw his head back in pure bliss, dampened charcoal hair spooling across the pillow beneath him. 

His folds almost vibrated around Dick’s cock, which triggered him into climaxing too, until they were shuddering against each other. Sadly, Dick couldn’t feel the entire impact of it because he had to wear protection now, so his knot didn’t latch onto that space deep inside and connect them. But, it was still satisfying, and he slumped over the taller boy when the muscle spasming and loud moans subsided. 

Jason panted heavily, stretched across the disorganized mattress like a starfish, one hand sluggishly lifting to card through Dick’s sweaty hair. His husband rolled up his condom and tossed it in the trash, before managing to lift his head from Jason’s collarbone and sigh, “That was amazing, Little Wing.” 

The younger rolled his cobalt-blue eyes, his voice vaguely hoarse from screaming as he rasped, “Damn right. Ya’ might’ve had a few flings back in the day, but none of them can top me. Figuratively and literally.” Dick chuckled and dropped down beside his mate, the sheets thrown hazardously over their lower regions. 

Dick brushed Jason’s knotted bangs away from those hypnotic eyes, and whispered, “It gets better every time, though being able to knot you would’ve been the cherry on top.” Jason hummed, and tilted his head to the ceiling, itching for a cigarette. 

“We both know why ya’ can’t”, he muttered, nuzzling Dick’s knuckle when it grazed across his cheekbone. 

The azure-eyed Alpha frowned, and softly replied, “Well, it’s not nearly as risky now that you’ve got an IUD. And, conceiving outside of Heats is super uncommon. Maybe we could do it without protection every now and then?” 

“Ya’ just want that so ya’ can claim me and remind everyone that I’m yours and you’re mine. Plus, I know not even the biggest condom can help that monster cock feel snug”, Jason commented, and Dick actually appeared both flustered and flattered at the compliment. “I don’t know if it’s THAT big…”, he trailed off, and Jason smacked his bicep playfully. 

They lounged beside each other in their dismantled nest for an uncertain amount of time, listening to their synced breathing and steady heartbeats. 

Eventually, Dick climbed out of bed to fetch a washcloth, and Jason relaxed as exhaustion overtook him. Even when his husband returned to gently scrub off his stomach and thighs, Jason didn’t visibly react, but that was understandable. 

The past month or so had been especially taxing on his sleeping schedule, so sex frequently had an undertone of tiredness, no matter how rushed their actions were. 

Despite sometimes being a major insomniac that was experienced in the field of sleeping issues, Jason had a tendency to run his mouth as if he were intoxicated when tired, so he hardly registered the following admittance: 

"Damian's pregnant." 

Dick’s movements ceased, and Jason continued to lazily stare at the beige ceiling until his brain came to a screeching halt. He clapped a hand over his mouth. 

Motherfucker. 

“What’re you talking about, Jay? Are you sleep-talking?”, Dick inquired, finishing his cleaning and climbing back up to his spot next to the Omega. Jason heaved a sigh, and mumbled hesitantly, “No, I’m not sleep-talking. It’s the truth. Ya’, uh…weren’t supposed ta’ know yet.” 

Dick scoffed, and the calming atmosphere faded when he exclaimed, “Dami’s pregnant? But…but how? When did you find this out?” 

Jason crossed his arms over his chest, and explained in an uncharacteristically-quiet voice, “He told me about a month ago. Remember Superman’s brat, Jon? It’s his. It was just a classic scenario of Dami goin’ inta’ Heat and Jon bein’ the only one around ta’ help him. I told him he has ta’ give his pup up for adoption.” 

“Wait, wait, wait. Does Bruce know?”, the thirty-year-old asked. Jason just stared at him. 

Dick groaned and rubbed a hand down his face, “How many people know?” Jason pursed his lips in contemplation. “Ya’, me, Dami obviously, Jon, Leslie, Raven and Gar. The last two figured it out on their own.” 

The bedroom went quiet for an unbearable, yet ridiculous amount of time. Dick was always the type to process Earth-shattering news inch-by-inch rather than foot-by-foot. Eventually, he muttered with a furrowed brow, “Bats is gonna kill him.” 

Jason screwed his eyes shut. 

“Are ya’ kiddin’ me? He’s gonna kill ALL of us for hidin’ it from him.” 

Dick couldn’t deny that, in all honesty, he was really fucking scared for when it clicked in Bruce’s brain. 

He may be a heroic vigilante and philanthropist, but if the cord of neutrality snapped, well…he was a monster behind the shutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Jon and Damian move forward from here? How much longer until Bruce figures their little secret out? Will the baby be a boy or girl? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> P.S. Despite Jon not exactly regretting being sexual with Damian, I'm not trying to promote underage sex. If it seems like I am, I'm sorry; I'm just trying to make the reader see through his perspective.


	7. I Am Not An Animal, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An incident on the last day of his freshman year nearly gets Jon expelled, and Damian gives him the silent treatment as a result. Meanwhile, Jon's parents react to the news of Damian's pregnancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Physical fighting, blood, accidental physical abuse, verbal and physical bullying and teenage pregnancy. If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> I literally rewrote this chapter at least five times. But, I'm satisfied with the results, and I hope you all will be, too. 
> 
> Enjoy.

His knuckles were destroyed. 

Not literally, since he had an accelerated metabolism and titanium durability, but they certainly looked in fairly bad shape. The skin was shredded, muscle peeking through and hurting as if he had punched through a volcano. 

Perhaps he had, given that the resident terrorizer had awakened a geologic-based power while they pummeled the shit out of each other. 

Their brawl landed sophomore Marshall Mara in the ER and Jon in the main corridor while he waited for the meeting with the principal to finish. 

Aside from throwing a magnet at a teacher in kindergarten, he had never even received a tardy, so the threat of expulsion on the last fricken’ day of his freshman year was, well…unbelievable. 

But, in all honesty, it was somewhat understandable. 

From the moment he had gained the ability to fire scalding lasers from his eyeballs, Dad had taught him to be an efficient fighter, but to have limits and boundaries. Murder was strictly forbidden, while a crippling would result in extreme prejudice. Even if Marshall regained consciousness after having his skull cracked open like a coconut, Jon would definitely face punishment. 

The fact that he could just…go ballistic like that, determined to smash the local tormentor into the concrete was beyond unacceptable. In fact, it was shameful, and his bottom lip quivered as he continued to wait. 

The silence in the corridor was deafening, with another freshman, Georgia, across from him frowning at him in either judgment, pity, or a strange combination of the two. 

They had been friends since the moment he had stepped foot into these maze-like halls, but if she wished to block him from her circle of companions, he wouldn’t be surprised. She may be an Amazon, but not even an island of powerful, domineering warriors condoned violence of such a proportion. 

Jon heaved a sigh, hoping that his parents weren’t having aneurisms while the principal explained the showdown to them. Bruce and Jason had arrived a few minutes prior, and had joined the discussion after narrowing their eyes at him warningly. 

They weren’t pissed about what Jon did to Marshall. 

They were pissed about what Jon did to Damian. 

The thirteen-year-old rubbed a throbbing hand down his dirtied face, further smearing dirt around his cheek. Crashing face-first into a flowerbed after Marshall punched him in the jaw hurt more than he thought it would, but nobody needed to know that. 

Georgia suddenly leaned forward, depositing a tissue from her butterfly-themed backpack. She wordlessly passed it to him, and Jon hesitantly muttered his thanks, wiping his face off as best he could so he wouldn’t look like a homeless person if he was called in. 

Without warning, he heard an exclamation from Jason that was muffled by the oakwood door, and hunched his shoulders nervously. Shit, he had fucked up big-time, and it all only worsened when he heard Mom raise her voice, too. 

And then, he noticed Georgia glance to the end of the corridor, and he followed her chartreuse gaze. Damian was limping towards them from the infirmary, head lowered while Alfred walked beside him, with the Beta’s stellar poker face concealing how shellshocked he likely was. 

They seated themselves as far away from Jon as possible, and when he dared to turn to them, Damian immediately looked away, resting his head against Alfred’s elbow. 

The elderly caretaker growled ever-so-lightly, and Jon swallowed audibly before averting his gaze. It seemed he had a growing knack for scaring Damian off, despite it being unintentional. 

Eventually, the door beside him opened, and Jason came out first, seemingly irritated at Bruce now. He glared menacingly down at Jon and then headed over to Damian, who keened as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. 

Meanwhile, Mom tugged on his sweatshirt collar; a mute signal to follow her and Dad in the opposite direction. 

Jon did as was wished of him, crossing his arms tightly over his chest self-consciously, desperately wanting to dash back to Damian and scoop him into his embrace. But, it would be a goddamn miracle if the fellow thirteen-year-old ever allowed him into his radius again, so he didn’t toe the line. 

Dad’s expression was stoic, but his brow was slightly furrowed, as if he were still registering everything the principal explained to him. Jon had no idea if he was expelled or not, but he was, without a doubt, grounded for at least a year. 

They climbed into their vehicle, with the young Alpha hissing when his knuckles grazed the seatbelt. Seriously, how long was it going to take for his singed skin to heal? The little family drove out of the parking lot, the stench of irritation and distress consuming the car. 

Mom cracked open a window, her slender fingers tightening on the steering wheel. 

Jon pressed his temple to his own window, his heart hammering in his chest and throat sore from roaring his uncontrollable rage down at Marshall. Why was it that losing all common sense had been so terrifying, and yet, so satisfying? 

“Do you want to explain in your own words what happened?” 

Jon glanced up through his matted, ebony bangs, where Dad was peering at him through the rearview mirror. His breath hitched, but he then swallowed again and stuttered, “I-I…I went too far.” 

Mom looked like she wanted to comment on that, but restrained herself. Dad motioned for Jon to continue. 

He examined his damaged knuckles as he explained slowly, “Damian meets up with me everyday after school. He said he would today, even though he hasn’t been a fan of me lately. When our last period ended, I went outside and waited at the stairs, but he never showed up. I got concerned, so I went looking for him, and found him get…g-getting…” 

He trailed off, cleared his throat and proceeded, “I found him near the dumpsters behind the gym. Marshall and his friends were calling him names; really bad names, l-like ‘whore’ and…and ‘cunt.’ Damian wasn’t fighting back because it could’ve revealed his identity as Robin, so he let them beat him up. He was just…just covered in blood and they were tearing his clothes off…” 

His voice was beginning to tremble like a fractured branch in a thunderstorm, but he pushed on. 

“They said they wanted to see if he was ‘knocked up’ or not because of his scent changing, and when he was naked, they saw his stomach and…and started taking pictures and laughing at him. I started running to him when Marshall yelled ‘surprise’, and all these students just appeared out of nowhere and started pointing and laughing and I…I c-couldn’t…I didn’t know what to do.” 

“And then what?”, Lois pressed patiently, and Jon licked his lips, grimacing when dirt got on his tongue. 

“Marshall punched him in the stomach. Really hard. Damian fell over and was trying to get his clothes back on, but they kept grabbing him by his hair and pulling him up so people could take pictures of him. When he hit Dami there, I just…it was like when a teapot boils over, and all the water comes spilling out. To be honest, I don’t remember much from there. I just saw…red. Just red.” 

That last sentence was whispered, as if the experience traumatized him. Maybe it did. 

“Do you remember what happened after the fight?”, Dad questioned, finally glancing back at him, and that’s when Jon’s vision blurred. 

He nodded, a choked sob escaping him, and he whimpered, “I didn’t mean to. When the red went away, I was standing on top of Marshall, and there w-was…there was blood everywhere. His friends were all beat up too, and the other kids were standing around, freaking out or calling for help. They saw me use my powers, but that’s not the worst part.” 

Tears trailed down his cheeks. 

“The worst part was seeing Dami. When I realized what I did to him, I didn’t know what to do. All he did was try to stop me from hurting Marshall even more, and I…I h-hit him, Dad. I didn’t mean to; he was just grabbing my arm and I elbowed him in the nose. I didn’t know I hurt him so bad, but he had f-fear in his eyes when I looked at him; REAL fear. I n-never want to hurt him, and I f-fuck…fucking broke his nose! And he had already b-b-been through so much pain…I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

He started chanting an apology, violent sobs wracking through him and his tears soaking his bloodstained shirt. When they stopped at a red light, Lois sighed and reached back to pat his knee, only for Jon to jerk away. 

“Don’t touch me!”, he ordered, and his parents seemed genuinely startled at his backtalk. 

Jon pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and screamed, “I didn’t mean to hurt him! I don’t wanna hurt you! J-just don’t touch me! I don’t wanna be an Alpha anymore! I don’t want powers anymore!” 

They pulled up to their towering apartment building, and Jon stumbled out of the car a complete mess, face covered in tears and snot and God knows what else. 

Clark reached out to him, but Jon sidestepped away and darted off into the air until he reached the twentieth floor. He kicked open the window of their home and flew inside, landing on the hardwood floor roughly and running to his bedroom. 

By the time his parents arrived, he had slammed and locked his door, and they both pressed their ears to it, trying to hear what he was doing. 

“He’s crying. A lot”, Clark sighed, and Lois pinched the bridge of her nose, honestly not knowing how they should proceed. On one hand, Jon beating the daylights out of someone with pure bloodlust was so uncharacteristic of him and, quite frankly, concerning. But, on the contrary, he was doing it to protect his friend—well, boyfriend she supposed—and had harmed Damian on accident. 

God, raising a teenager sucked sometimes. 

“Do you think he meant it, about how he wished he weren’t an Alpha and doesn’t want powers?”, Lois inquired as she and Clark walked back down the hall to the living room. 

They both poured themselves extra-large mugs of black coffee, and her husband replied, “Hard to say. When I was his age, I struggled with my powers and second-gender too, especially when I learned that I wasn’t born on Earth. It made me feel…wrong, I suppose, and being an Alpha didn’t exactly help. If anything, it made the resentment towards myself worse, what with the stereotype that all Alphas have to be controlling and cruel, but I didn’t want to be. Of course, this situation is pretty different from mine, but still.” 

They sat beside each other at the dining table, pushing their stacks of paperwork and half-written columns aside. “Did Connor struggle with it, too?”, Lois asked, and Clark nodded, solemnness in his aquamarine eyes. 

“Connor had some anger issues, so I’d say his was a bit worse, but he’s mellowed out since he mated with Tim. The main problem with Jon is that he didn’t stop, even when that kid was unconscious and bleeding. And when Damian tried to stop him, Jon hit him. Even if it wasn’t on purpose, it’s not okay.” 

“I agree, but…a pup at thirteen, Clark. How did we not know about that sooner?”, the Beta sighed, obviously disappointed at herself for not reading the signs. Clark placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“We’re definitely going to talk to him about that, but like you just said, he’s thirteen. It’s not that surprising that he didn’t tell us”, Clark chuckled humorlessly. 

“I guess”, Lois muttered, massaging her temples while a headache threatened to invade her cranium. They waited for about half-an-hour, and then gave communicating with Jon another shot. 

Lois knocked on his door, and there was an immediate, “Go away”, in response. 

“Jonathan Samuel Kent, open this door this instant”, Lois ordered sternly, and Clark nodded in agreement, knowing that Jon could see the motion with his X-ray vision. There was silence for a minute, and then Jon unlocked the door. He trudged back to his disarrayed mattress, collapsing onto it while his parents sat down near his legs. 

Lois glanced up. The glow-in-the-dark stars were gone. 

“Jon, we want you to know that we aren’t mad at you. Definitely disappointed, but not mad. Just because you made a big mistake doesn’t make me or your Mom love you any less”, Clark promised him. 

Jon didn’t answer, face buried in his pillow. But, the sourness of distress radiated from him, and Lois carefully wrapped her fingers around his ankle, just to make sure he wouldn’t jerk away again. 

“Jonny, I’m going to explain to you what happened today, and you are going to listen. Understood?” Jon nodded vaguely, muffled sniffling drifting through the bedroom. 

Lois said, “You reacted the way you did because of an urge to protect your mate. I know you two aren’t properly mated, which is good because you’re far too young, but acting the way you did is pretty common. You saw another Alpha violating your pregnant Omega, so you snapped. You went overboard, which you will have to face the repercussions for, but how you reacted isn’t any different than if Connor or Dick saw someone hurting Tim or Jason.” 

Jon raised his head a little, interest peaked. 

“Don’t feel alienated or wrong for acting on instinct. You know how you told us that when you hit that bully, all you saw was red? That’s called an Uproar, which most Alphas have sometime in their lives, where you just feel this uncontrollable anger and explode. Betas and Omegas have them too, but Alphas’ are the most intense. Either way, the bottom line is that you were protecting someone you care about, which is important.” 

The ebony-haired boy furrowed his brow, eyes bloodshot and reddened from his crying fit, and he eventually rasped, “So, I reacted the way I did because of…hormones?” 

Clark shrugged, remarking, “That’s one way to put it. Uproars only happen when something very painful is happening to your mate because of someone hurting them, though it can happen from a friend or family member getting hurt, too.” 

Instead of their hoped reaction, Jon just looked more confused than ever. 

He sat up, hugging his pillow to his torso, and murmured, “But what I did was still really bad. Marshall might’ve been a meta-human, but one can only handle so much. I didn’t mean to go as far as I did. What if…what if he’s hurt beyond repair? He really hurt Dami and…and our pup, but I don’t want to ruin his life.” 

“It’s good that you have that empathy. As for what happened with you hitting Damian, it wasn’t alright, but it was accidental. If you want to keep a relationship with him, I suggest giving him a bit of space to heal, and then apologize to him”, Lois recommended, moving her hand from his ankle to the crown of his head to ruffle his overgrown hair. 

Her son winced and dropped his gaze, mumbling under his breath, “How do you feel about, you know…” 

He trailed off, cheeks flushing just slightly in humiliation, and Clark said, “We’re disappointed in you for not being safe, but…it was your first Rut and his first Heat, so, you know…you acted on instinct an--.” 

Lois cut him off with, “You’re too awkward when it comes to this. Can you go order a pizza while I talk to him?” Clark appeared mildly offended, but then slumped his shoulders in defeat and exited the bedroom. 

The chocolate-haired woman shuffled up the bed until she was seated criss-cross beside Jon, and she smiled sympathetically at him. 

“At your age, hormones are your compass. Your body is going through strange changes, and so are your emotions. You mating with Damian was out of instinct more than anything else, with the endgame in mind being pups. I know you’ll deny that, but it’s true.” 

Jon wracked a hand through his messy hair; he couldn’t exactly argue with that. 

“But, since then, you’ve done everything you can to show him that you care about him. You hid his pregnancy from us for an impressive amount of time considering how bad you are at lying, and you’ve tried to stay close to him. You’re a lot more mature than most Alphas your age in that sense; more often than not, they abandon their mate and offspring. I’m glad you haven’t, but you do understand that when Damian kits, the baby has to be put up for adoption, don’t you?” 

Jon’s eyes started to water for the millionth time today. He pressed his cheek against his pillow, and uttered, “I know, and I know that’s for the best, but…it’s not its fault it was made. If we give him or her away, they’ll never know where they came from. And, they might have my powers.” 

Lois frowned; she hadn’t considered the possibility of his pup being a meta-human, but they would only be 25% Kryptonian, so the chances were slimmer. 

“Well, you had powers as soon as you were born. If this pup does, we’ll try to find them a home where their powers can be handled”, she vowed, wrapping a sinewy arm around his shoulders. The young Alpha scrubbed at his irritated eyes with his sleeve, scent calming, but still edged. 

“Dami wants to keep them. I kinda want to keep them too, but I know adoption is best for them. But…Dami’s set on not giving them away. What if he does something risky to keep them, like runs away?” 

His mother’s frown deepened, and she brushed some of Jon’s bangs aside. “Has he mentioned running away?”, she inquired, and Jon rubbed the nape of his neck. 

“He hasn’t said it directly, but I…I’m kinda worried. He thinks that he can raise this pup by himself if everyone tells him that he can’t keep them. After believing his whole life that he can do anything, he thinks he can do this without anyone, too. Dami’s strong and brave and super smart, but he can’t do it. Not by himself.” 

Lois pulled Jon closer, wrapping him up in one of her patent, Lane Family hugs. “I’ll tell Bruce to keep an eye on him. Everything’ll work out in the end, sweetie. You might have to talk to Marshall’s family and hope they’ll forgive, but in the meantime, you should focus on Damian. Like I said, give him some space, but then apologize to him.” 

“What if he doesn’t forgive me or wants me around?”, Jon whimpered, a few tears escaping down his cheeks. Lois kissed his forehead comfortingly. “Jonny, you’re one of the best things to ever happen to him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Eventually, you’ll see it, too. I promise.” 

She hugged him once more and then demanded he shower, nose wrinkling from the odor of dirt, grime, blood and distress. Jon headed to the bathroom, genuinely surprised at how well his parents processed all of this. 

Of course, his electronics were confiscated and he was banned from crimefighting for two weeks, but he’s had harsher groundings. 

Was it true that he was one of the best things to ever happen to Damian? 

He thought that was an exaggeration, but…he liked thinking that he was cherished by his friend. Now, he just had to pray that Damian’s family wouldn’t be mailing him threatening letters at random. 

Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where will Jon and Damian's relationship go from here? How will Damian's family react to his pregnancy? Is there really a possibility of Damian running away? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks! They are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading.


	8. I Am Not An Animal, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's family, particularly Tim, reacts to his pregnancy. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy, mention of accidental physical abuse and discussion of adoption. If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> I'm sorry I haven't updated for a little while, but I've been very busy. But, I'm back for now, so here is the new chapter! 
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> P.S. I feel like I made Tim a bit OOC, but I tried.

"They just see me as a victim of melodrama, don't they?" 

Titus flicked his oversized ears in response. 

Canines were infamous for being sentient security blankets, and were beloved to the masses. From guiding disabled individuals through traffic to protecting infants during a robbery, they were the chevaliers of the animal world. 

A source of comfort and a distraction from cruel realities, Titus was just what the imaginary doctor ordered, and he leaned forward to nose Damian’s midsection. 

Dogs were usually sensitive to other creatures who were pregnant, and this massive, obsidian Great Dane was no different. Despite the sheer size of him, he was cautious when sniffing Damian’s belly, particularly where a spreading bruise was. Said wound was a kaleidoscope of colors, purples and yellows mixing together like a hideous painting. 

Fortunately, Leslie had confirmed when he had another ultrasound that his daughter (the one upside of this hellish day was discovering her gender) was unharmed. It was shocking to say the least, but the thirteen-year-old was relieved. 

When Marshall sucker-punched him, he had been certain while crumpled on the ground that he was going to miscarry. So, either he suddenly had durability that matched Superman’s, or this pup was developing some abilities of her own. 

Either way, she reassured him by continuing to kick up a storm, a pair of tiny feet pattering near his ribcage. He was guessing that it was gradually growing claustrophobic in there for her, but she still had around four-and-a-half months left, if everything went smoothly. 

At first, Damian had been confident that none of his plans would backfire, but now everything was crashing and burning, which caused him to curse at his own naivety. 

His tired, emerald eyes flickered over to his phone. He had arrived at Wayne Manor almost five hours prior, and Jon hadn’t contacted him at all. Of course, after the gruesome stunt he pulled, the Omega didn’t want his estranged partner pestering him with fake apologies and sappy sentimentalities. 

It was gross. 

Damian sighed and carefully sat up, grunting when the bruise triggered an ache yet again. But, his pup was pressing against his bladder and he wasn’t too keen on ruining his sweatpants, so he trudged to the bathroom connected to his bedroom with Titus lumbering after him. 

Before lifting the toilet lid, he glanced at himself in the mirror. As dramatic as it sounded, he didn’t recognize the battered face and watering, bloodshot eyes peering back at him. 

His right eye was almost swollen shut, encircled with blacks-and-blues. His bottom lip was busted, and there was a second-degree burn on his cheekbone from when Marshall’s superpower activated. 

But, none of those could compare to his nose. It was fractured, and Leslie trying to set it back into place hurt like a son of a bitch. It was blackened and reddened from the bridge to his nostrils, and he had to resort to breathing through his mouth until the swelling subsided. 

It was covered in a thick layer of gauze, which just made it itchy, but that didn’t matter to him. What mattered was who fractured his nose, and how it sabotaged a relationship that he had silently appreciated. 

To Jon’s defense, Damian should have protected himself instead of raising his hands in surrender as soon as Marshall dragged him to the dumpsters behind the gymnasium, but then his cover could have been compromised. He still had a tendency to showcase his inner warrior when provoked, but had restrained himself, and it all exploded in his face as a result. 

He shouldn’t have allowed Jon to charge past him and practically maim his assaulters. It wasn’t because he didn’t think they deserved it, because they definitely fucking did; the problem was that it spoiled Jon’s persona as Superboy. 

He knew his identity would be revealed at some point since he was idiotic enough not to wear a mask, but at least 95% of the school videotaped him splattering Marshall’s blood across the pavement. 

Authorities and Barbara were trying desperately to block the videos from being viewed by the populace, but people kept finding ways around the safeguards and security. Even if they were only posted for thirty seconds, someone clicked on that notification and caught a glimpse of the destruction a mere thirteen-year-old can cause. 

Damian knew that Jon did it to protect him and their baby, but he shattered the boundaries. He almost rejected the Justice League’s pledge of no killing when he raised his bloodied fist up high to land the finishing blow to Marshall’s beaten head. 

And then, Damian made the foolish mistake of snatching Jon’s wrist and ordering him to stop immediately, and was elbowed in the nose with enough force to fucking stun him. 

Damian flinched; he recalled dropping onto his back and clutching his nose, blood gushing from it and staining his palms as he screamed, “What the fuck, Jon?!” His voice had trembled; his throat had tightened. He had been on the verge of crying, but had reigned it in. 

That was what snapped Jon out of his murderous rampage, but Damian had snarled at him to keep his distance. Now, he regretted saying that, but unless he found a time machine or goddamn Dr. Manhattan, he couldn’t modify the past. 

Part of him didn’t want to speak to Jon again because of fear that he would be injured, but the bigger part was made of guilt. 

The young Alpha was shielding him, and Damian rejected him for it. Frowning, he then heaved a sigh and sat on the toilet, relieving himself while his pup continued to tumble around in his womb like a goddamn acrobat. Titus whimpered from the doorway, detecting his owner’s distress, but Damian waved him off. 

“I am fine, Titus. Just go follow Pennyworth around again”, he mumbled, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he continued to piss. Jesus, how much could he possibly have to pee? This pup was leeching from him and controlling his immune system like a parasite, but he couldn’t change that and was too exhausted to try. 

Just as he flushed, he heard his bedroom door creak open, followed by a brief sliver of Baba and Father arguing from the hallway. They had been debating and occasionally shouting since arriving home, and all because of Damian’s pregnancy. 

Baba believed that he should give his daughter up for adoption, while Father insisted that he keep her and called it “abandonment” if she was passed onto someone else. 

The ebony-haired boy scowled. Why wasn’t he permitted to have an opinion in this? 

Titus craned his head over his muscular shoulder, and yipped when Tim approached them. Damian growled lightly in warning, and then hissed, “Do you mind? A bathroom is called a place of privacy for a reason, and I did not give you permission to enter.” 

The fellow Omega smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “All of us have walked in on each other at some point. Besides, I wanted to see how you were doing.” Damian adjusted his clothes and washed his hands, brushing past his adoptive brother as he answered, “I am fine. You can leave now.” 

Tim outright ignored his statement, instead following Damian to his mattress and sitting on the edge of it while the younger climbed into his disorganized, rather sorry excuse for a nest. For a minute or so, they sat in a strange silence apart from Titus snuffling as he chewed on a toy, before Damian reluctantly invited Tim to join him. 

The twenty-five-year-old gladly did so, albeit slowly and carefully given his condition. When his aroma of honeycombs and lavender bloomed across the blankets and pillows of the nest, Damian willed himself to relax, burrowing into Tim’s side like a scared hatchling. Titus leaped up and curled into a ball at their feet, head tilted towards the outskirts of the nest. 

Eventually, Tim informed him, “So, right before I came in, I heard Jason threaten to tear out Bruce’s pancreas. A bit graphic, but I’ve heard him say worse.” Damian hummed in response, and then muttered, “You’re here to try and convince me to give up my pup, aren’t you?” 

Tim shrugged once more, readjusting his position when pressure accumulated on his spine. “I thought we’d talk about something else, actually. I heard about what happened at school. How’re you feeling?” Damian pouted a little, mulling over how to describe it. 

Titus lifted the chew-toy onto his lap, and Damian tossed it to the opposite side of the bedroom as he replied, “In all honesty, like garbage, but I will manage. I was hit in the stomach, but my pup is fine. My face still feels swollen though.” 

The older Omega scanned his sapphire eyes across Damian’s face, and nuzzled the crown of his head sympathetically while adding, “And it looks swollen. That black eye doesn’t look pleasant.” 

Damian frowned, stating with a hint of disapproval and a glare, “I’m surprised you are pointing out the black eye and not the fractured nose. I am guessing that Pennyworth told you not to mention it.” 

“You guessed correctly”, Tim confessed, and when Damian’s glare hardened, he assured him, “I’m not going to make you explain it, Baby-Bat, but you can if you want. As your older brother whose also a pregnant Omega and mated to a Kryptonian, I’ll be the perfect confidant.” 

Damian rolled his eyes, the action causing his bruises to ache, and leaned away from Tim’s (very comfortable) side. His widened hips and muscles were softer from baby weight, so he basically felt like a pillow. 

Would Damian’s body become just as squishy and cushiony? He hoped not. 

“Hm. You are in an unusually positive mood considering how close you are to kitting”, he remarked, though he scolded his own hypocrisy when his baby nudged his pelvis, as if reminding him of their similar conditions. 

Tim huffed a laugh, shaking his head with his hands cupping the amazingly-large swell of his belly. He looked just about ready to pop and smelled like it too, the aroma of milk and soon-to-be-born pups drifting from him. 

“Are you kidding me? I had to pause my ‘Week in Sextillion’ marathon for this. This smile is fake”, he insisted, snickering when Damian quirked an eyebrow at the complaint. Yes, that reality TV garbage was the equivalent of obscene pornography being available on cable. 

But, to his defense, he was banned from sexual intercourse and had to settle for cunnilingus until his obstetrician said otherwise, so of course he was abnormally concupiscent. 

He would never admit this to Damian or anyone else, but he was desperate for a lay. But, Conner was far too humble and worried nowadays to bend the OB-GYN’s rule. 

So, he was stuck watching hours of massive orgies while gorging on pizza-rolls dunked in Jell-O while his fiancé had the privilege of traveling off-world. It was total bullshit, but the result would be so worth it. 

Probably. 

“Your brain is going to rot from watching that cable porn”, Damian promised him, and he crawled off the mattress to play with Titus while adding, “Now, go away and do not pester me again.” 

Once again, Tim outright ignored him to inquire while rubbing his belly (he was having twins and they were like battling squids in there), “So, how do you feel about being pregnant? I’m guessing you have mixed feelings about it.” 

The sourness of irritation, like a landfill beneath the unforgiving Sun, wafted from Damian as he threw Titus’ carrot-shaped toy once more. “My feelings are not mixed. I want to keep this pup. Baba cannot make me give her away.” The black-haired man sighed at his stubbornness. 

“I had a feeling you’d say that. He told me about how you agreed to put your pup up for adoption, but had a hunch that you wouldn’t go through with it. I get wanting to keep her, but it’s best if you give her away”, he said, and Damian’s demeanor worsened tenfold. Titus folded his ears back and dropped his toy when his owner ignored him to debate with Tim. 

“Why is Father the only one who supports my decision to keep my baby? You do not; neither does Baba, Grayson, Gordon, Jon’s family or the Titans. Why should you be allowed to keep your offspring if I cannot keep mine?”, he questioned, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, hackles bristling warningly. Tim furrowed his brow, and reached over to squeeze Damian’s arm comfortingly. 

“You know the reason, Baby-Bat. I’m an adult in a stable relationship with a well-paying career and the necessities to raise some pups. You don’t have any of that yet, so raising a baby would be really difficult.” 

Damian yanked his arm away, jaw clenching as he exclaimed, “I have enough! I do not need to be an adult or be in a stable relationship to raise my pup! If Baba was allowed to keep me, then I have the right to keep my pup!” 

“You know that Jay’s situation was drastically different from yours. He had to have you, or he likely would’ve been killed. He had to raise you, or you both would’ve been put in danger”, Tim reminded him, and Damian snapped quietly, “I know that.” 

"Do you?”, the twenty-five-year-old asked, and when his companion tried to argue, he continued with, “Dami, listen: the only reason Bruce wants you to keep this baby is because his perspective is heavily skewed. He thinks that it’s ultimately your fault, so you have to deal with the consequence, which is dedicating the next eighteen years of your life to this kid. He also wants you to keep her because he doesn’t believe in ‘abandoning’ a pack member, but this isn’t abandonment. This is sparing your pup a difficult childhood.” 

The thirteen-year-old’s eyes watered, so he screwed them tightly shut to prevent himself from bawling his eyes out. Why did none of them understand? Father wasn’t supporting him for such twisted reasons, was he? He sucked in a breath through his teeth and fiddled with the hem of his shirt, right where he was feeling flutters from his pup. 

Damn, how energetic could a fetus be? 

“Even if Father is supporting me for those reasons, at least I have someone that respects me for wanting this pup. The rest of you talk to me like I’m a child; like I do not have an opinion in any of this. It isn’t fair”, he vented, voice cracking at the end. Tim ushered him back to the nest, not wishing for him to be more distressed than he already was. 

Damian reluctantly climbed back in, keeping a good few inches between them, but couldn’t restrain himself from staring at Tim’s belly. It was just so…big. Would his stomach become that big? Well, probably not since he wasn’t having twins, but his daughter was a bit heavier than average. 

Shit, that scared him. 

“You can feel if you want”, Tim offered, already grasping Damian’s wrist gently and leading it to the base of his midsection. Damian’s breath hitched when his palm pressed against the stretched skin, an immediate flurry of cramped movement awing him. 

Huh, it seemed all Kryptonian babies were energetic. 

“You’re right”, Tim said suddenly, and Damian glanced up at him. “It isn’t fair. But, you’re only thinking about yourself. Have you even asked Jon if he wants to go through with this?” 

The teenager retracted his hand, expression hardening in offense. “Of course I have! He said he would help me convince Baba to allow me to keep my pup.” 

Tim frowned sympathetically. “I’m sorry to break it to you Dami, but he didn’t mean that. His parents called a couple hours ago and told us that Jon agreed to put the baby up for adoption. You may live in a mansion with all the money and opportunities a kid could ask for, but if you have this baby, the rest of us are going to be stuck taking care of her.” 

“That is not true! I am more than capable of raising her by myself!”, Damian raised his voice, scent gland emitting waves of spicy, peppery anger. 

“No, you’re not!”, Tim shot back, and Damian opened his mouth to shout a protest when he was interrupted. 

“Teenage parents think of their kids as dolls; something that’ll be easy to look after. But, it’s hard; very hard. All of us had to watch Jason struggle to raise you, and he almost gave up on it a few times. Teens don’t have nearly as much commitment to a baby as adults do. I get that you’re attached to her, but you’re not seeing how much your priorities will have to change. You’re not prepared for this. Not yet”, Tim explained, but by the end of his explanation, Damian was seething, which was not the reaction he had been hoping for. 

But, the ebony-haired boy forced himself to calm down, hackles lowering and breathing mellowing out. He clenched his jaw again, and decided, “Fine. So, now I know that Jon does not want to keep her either. You, Baba and the others do not support me; that is fine. I do not need any of you backing me up. I have been independent my whole life, and still am.” 

“Dami, we all want what’s best for you. If you keep this pup, you’re also forcing Jon to raise her when he’s admittedly not ready for this yet. I understand you thinking that you want this baby, but you don’t. Not really. In ten years, you can have as many kids as you want, but you’re too young right now.” 

Damian’s lips quivered in dismay, and he barked sharply, “Stop saying that! All of you keep saying that I am too young and will fail at this, but I want this! I want this pup and you cannot make me give her away! If I have to put my role as Robin on hold to raise her, then so be it!” Tim subconsciously flexed his fingers; a tic when he was growing impatient. 

“When Jason had you, Bruce still made him be Red Hood while raising you at the same time. He had to study, fight crime, risk his life working undercover in the League of Assassins and raise you when he was a kid himself. Bruce will make you do the same if you go through with this”, Tim stated firmly, and although Jason raising Fantasia would have been a better example, there was a silent code amongst the Bat Family to never mention her or make Damian aware of her past existence. 

Damian physically deflated, and Tim proceeded, “Bruce will work you to the bone if you do this. If you’re sleep-deprived from feeding and changing her all the time, he’ll still make you go on patrol. Please, for your own wellbeing, put your baby up for adoption. It’s for the best.” 

For five minutes or so, Damian contemplated everything that Tim said, lips bent downwards in a deep, concentrated frown. Eventually, he muttered the response that Tim had been fearing: “…No. No, I will not. If Jon does not want to raise her with me, so be it. I can do this on my own.” 

Tim wanted to object, but settled for nodding bluntly and heaving himself off of Damian’s bed, hands propped against his lower back. 

“You know what? You’re right”, he said, and the teenager’s emerald eyes widened a fraction. Tim’s demeanor became strict though, which made Damian guess that he was being sarcastic. 

“Bruce is the only one who thinks this pregnancy is even remotely an okay idea. You have Bruce on your side, which should bother you because the mission always comes first to him. If you keep this baby, he’ll still make you go on missions as Robin, no matter how tired or stressed you are. And if you do this, me and the others will not support you. Not emotionally; if you need advice, we won’t give it to you. You’re on your own if you do this. None of us, not even Alfred, will change a diaper or take her to checkups or feed her. She’s your responsibility now.” 

Damian blanched, olive-colored skin paling and pupils dilating. Tim had never witnessed him be so shocked, but wasn’t planning on apologizing for it. “N-none of you will? Not even Baba?”, he stuttered meekly, a hint of disbelief in his tone. Tim shook his head. 

“No, he won’t. Unlike him, you have a choice, and you’re choosing to dedicate yourself to this. You can still live under this roof, his and mine, but you’re on your own when it comes to raising this pup. We all love you, but we won’t support you for being selfish by not thinking about your future or hers.” 

Damian’s vision blurred, and he choked out as his tear-ducts overflowed, “Fine. I can do this without any of your help. Get out.” 

Tim hesitated, but ultimately nodded and headed towards the door. Perhaps he didn’t explain all of that correctly, but Damian had to be responsible for burying his own grave. 

And yet, when he exited the bedroom, he wished he could take back half of what he said. He blamed the hormones for making him run his mouth. 

Meanwhile, Damian scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling and hiccuping. He rarely ever cried, so this was weird for him, but he thought he had a right to. 

Titus whined and propped his chin on Damian’s thigh, ears flattened against his skull. His owner looked down at him through his tears, and then to his dirtied school backpack sitting beside the fireplace. 

An idea sparked in his brain, and then ignited when his tears soon dissipated. He smiled shakily down at Titus. 

“I think it’s about time we had an adventure of our own.” 

By midnight, his bedroom would be vacant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where is Damian going? Will Tim fully regret saying that he won't support him? How will the Bat Family react when they realize that Damian may or may not have run away? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> I'm sorry that I made most of the Bat Family so judgmental, but I think we can all agree that they don't always see eye-to-eye. 
> 
> All of your comments, kudos and bookmarks are very much appreciated! "Some People Have Real Problems" will be updated soon. Thanks for reading.


	9. Nobody Knows I'm Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's missing, which leads both Jon and Jason into an emotional downward spiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy and threatening language towards a pregnant person. If you are sensitive to either of these, please do not read! 
> 
> I wanted to wait a few days before updating this again, but I couldn't restrain myself. 
> 
> Enjoy.

He was gone. 

His baby was gone. 

His precious, confident, beautiful child was gone. 

It was currently 8:00 AM or so on June 13th, and Jason was a dead man walking. 

He had searched the entirety of Gotham City from West Harlow Station to the Narrows until every muscle was beyond sore, his fingers cramping from triggering his grappling hook more times than he could count. He had scanned every nook and cranny of this expansive, outlandish megalopolis, but that was the problem: it was a megalopolis. 

With each passing year, Gotham doubled in size and population, and despite Jason being more familiar with it than an alcoholic was with whiskey, he was spotting buildings that he didn’t recognize. 

Goddamn skyscrapers that he had never noticed until last night, and he had realized with a soul-crushing dismay that Damian could literally be anywhere by now. 

Damian was a skilled geographer, so the chances of him being hundreds of miles away from Gotham by now wouldn’t be too surprising. After all, he always found wacky, alternate forms of transportation, from a hijacked prototype of the Batmobile to a Mother/Fatherbox. 

Jason was honestly at a loss on how to proceed from here, but at least he had enough cognizance to point an accusatory finger at Tim. 

If that literal fucking dumbass hadn’t lectured Damian into thinking that his jumbled, makeshift family didn’t support him whatsoever, he would be recovering from his injuries underneath his own blankets, in his own nest, with Jason and Alfred for company. 

But instead, Tim thought that was a stellar time to discard his genius IQ and make it seem as if they didn’t give two shits about Damian. 

Yes, all of them had agreed that Damian would have to take a majority of the responsibility for his daughter if he didn’t put her up for adoption, but Jason never said that he wouldn’t support Damian at all. He would be somewhat disappointed, but not totally unsupportive. 

The twenty-seven-year-old heaved a prolonged, trembling sigh. He was emotionally exhausted and physically drained and judging by the headache thrumming against his temples, he was on the verge of experiencing a Drop. 

It sucked, how Alphas had Uproars while Omegas had Drops and Betas just didn’t really have to deal with hormonal bullshit since around 75% were asexual and/or aromantic, and didn’t have Heats or Ruts. 

Jason was uncomfortably familiar with Drops, which were periods of depression that could last from a few days to at least two months. It made his motivations, appetite and cognitive thinking shut down, until he was practically plastered to his mattress, all the lights off and sustenance ignored. He hadn’t suffered through one since his last miscarriage, but he couldn’t afford going through one today. 

Tracking Damian down was his number one priority, but Dick kept nagging him about needing some breakfast and Jason was far too enervated to shout at him. Instead, he dropped down at the marble island in the center of the enormous kitchen, head thunking against its surface rather loudly. 

Dick massaged his husband’s back in an up-and-down motion, as if he were cleaning a window with a squeegee. His kneading palms did aid in easing Jason’s tightly-wound muscles, but when he asked what the younger wanted to eat, he was unresponsive. 

So, he requested scrambled eggs with extra-buttered toast for Jason, and Fruit Loops for himself. 

Alfred vaguely shook his head in disapproval of Dick’s obsession with cereal that contained more sugar than most pastries, but fulfilled the desideratum nonetheless. 

While he heated up the stove and pulled out ingredients for Jason’s breakfast, he announced, “You should get some rest, Master Jason. I prepared a bedroom for you in the East Wing for when you are finished eating. You should as well, Master Dick.” 

“Thanks, Alfie. We will”, the Alpha promised, but Jason mumbled a protest into the speckled marble, right shoulder twitching. His dedication to Damian was admirable, but he was simply in no condition to keep searching, and Alfred made that painfully clear. 

Dick, Barbara and Bruce had patrolled along with Jason and Artemis from the buildings while Jon, Conner and Bizarro were the eyes in the skies, but none of them had found any clues regarding Damian’s whereabouts. 

Not even Bruce, which was extremely unusual. And, the saddest part was that he seemed to have taken Titus with him, and that slobbering Great Dane had been the last source of comfort for everyone. 

Fuck, this was all Tim’s fault. 

Well actually, Jason reevaluated that sentiment. Tim’s lecture was Damian’s breaking point, but Jason, Dick, Barbara and even the Kent’s had given his needs the cold shoulder. 

If they had all actually listened for a minute, perhaps his beautiful little boy wouldn’t have vanished into the after-hours of the night. 

The Omega chewed on his lip with enough force to bleed. The grandfather clock in the adjacent room seemed to grow louder and louder, its ticking a dreadful reminder that with each minute, hints of Damian’s location were draining away. 

God, it made his anxiety spike, and he was vaguely aware of Dick and Alfred scrunching their noses. 

When he realized that he was releasing hurricanes of distressed pheromones, he flushed in embarrassment and burrowed into his oversized leather jacket, eyes watering. 

The violent, rather psychotic side of his emotional spectrum begged for vengeance against Tim for being the straw that snapped the camel’s back, and he honestly just…didn’t know what to do with that utterly hateful feeling. 

It scared him, and he despised being scared. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby. Babs is checking the traffic cams, and Clark said he’d keep a lookout today. He couldn’t have gone far”, Dick reassured him for the millionth time, kissing the crown of his head and wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he shoveled his multicolored cereal into his mouth with the other. 

“Why is it that I keep losin’ all my pups, but nobody else does?” 

Dick halted, spoon dripping milk onto the countertop while Alfred almost dropped Jason’s toast in alarm. That subject was sensitive and rarely mentioned, so both braced themselves for Jason’s version of a tantrum, which normally included smashing windows and shooting bullets through vacant walls. 

“Damian’s pregnant and ran away. I’ve miscarried four times. And Fan…Fantasia died of cancer. Why don’t any of them stay? What am I doin’ wrong? I know I fuckin’ suck at parentin’, but I thought…I thought I was gettin’ better…”, he trailed off, lips quivering and hands trembling uncontrollably. 

Dick opened his mouth to reply, but his mate interrupted him with, “I’m not a good Omega. I’m not a good parent. I’m not a good mate. I’m not a good pack member. I d-don’t know what I’m doin’ wrong.” 

“You are doing nothing wrong, Master Jason”, Alfred stated sternly, “everyone has their flaws, but you have worked to redeem yours. No one is always good at what they do and who they are, so enough of this self-deprecation. Fantasia’s fate was beyond any of our control. Your miscarriages were beyond your control, and so was Master Damian running off. We need to focus on the task at hand: bringing him home unharmed. But first, you must have breakfast.” 

He squeezed Jason’s shoulder before placing the dish of eggs and toast in front of him, and the twenty-seven-year-old reluctantly took a bite, chewing slowly with his gaze hyper-focused on his battered combat boots. 

There was the Arabic symbol for “forgive yourself” sloppily painted on the front of the left pair from when Damian had stolen them at five-years-old. 

He had been learning to paint landscapes and portraits by a professional teacher by then, but hadn’t mastered the arts yet. So, the writing was a bit hard to translate, but Jason had gotten emotional the first time he read it. 

His son never explained why he tagged his shoe with that phrase, but Jason had been depressed during that year while imprisoned by Talia again, so it was understandable. 

And yet, he couldn’t forgive himself. 

Not now. 

Not yet. 

After just a few forkfuls of yellowish, savory goodness, he started feeling nauseous, which normally happened when he was excessively stressed out. Dick picked up on his queasy appearance, and thanked the elderly Beta for the meal before practically carrying Jason up the staircase. 

When they reached the main hallway of the East Wing, they passed Tim, who was debating something under his breath with Conner. Both trailed off when Jason trudged past them, physiques tensing up. 

Shockingly, Jason didn’t snarl at them or threaten to slit their throats, but Tim couldn’t restrain himself from muttering, “I’m sorry.” 

Jason froze, nearly making Dick trip over his ankle. He glanced over his broad shoulder at the smaller Omega, and Tim continued, “I didn’t mean to be so harsh with him. I just tried to tell him what we all agreed on, but it…came out wrong. I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much distress.” 

Jason jerked out of Dick’s Herculean arms to lumber over to the younger, and Conner growled warningly. The charcoal-haired man glared at him before glancing down at Tim, his face partially shadowed like a murderer mocking their victim. 

“Okay. And?”, he asked, and Tim attempted to reply when Jason hissed through bared canines, “Ya’ might be havin’ pups, but don’t forget that I came before ya’. I’m the Robin before ya’, and I’m Head Omega. I can kick ya’ out of the pack if ya’ cross the line. I don’t give a shit that your life is picture-perfect compared ta’ mine. I don’t give a shit that ya’ can have as many pups as ya’ want while I can’t. Ya’ do NOT talk ta’ my Habibi like that, do ya’ understand? He might be your brother, but he’s my son. You’re lucky I respect ya’ just enough not ta’ kick your ass right now, ya’ know that?” 

Tim would often object when Jason scolded him, but he was on the brink of kitting and wasn’t exactly in the greatest shape to brawl. So, he begrudgingly displayed his neck in submission, hands instinctively shielding his belly. 

He knew that Jason would never, in a million years, hit him in such a breakable area, but the fellow Omega was extremely pissed off and Tim was, well…intimidated. 

Meanwhile, Dick and Conner observed each other, the tension crackling in the air. They may be human, but they all had animalistic sides buried beneath the common sense. 

They both growled deep in their throats, the urge to protect their mates making them do so, but the tension dissipated when Jason walked away, seemingly satisfied by Tim’s submission. 

Dick lowered his hackles and followed his partner to their temporary bedroom, locking the door behind them. Alfred was considerate enough to have a stack of washed blankets and pillows at the foot of the mattress for nesting, and Jason did just that, kicking off his combat boots and stripping to his undergarments before pulling all of the materials towards him. 

He constructed a semicircle of blankets with pillows in the center, and buried himself amongst the plush objects, facing in the opposite direction of Dick. 

The thirty-year-old got situated behind Jason, spooning him and rubbing their bitten scent glands together to ground him. Jason purred hoarsely in response, and then mumbled, “I wanna keep lookin’ for him.” 

“I do too, but we can’t look for him if we’re sleepwalking. I heard that Bruce and Jon are going to ask around today. I’m sure it’ll all work out”, Dick whispered, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the nape of Jason’s neck as said boy replied, “I hate how positive ya’ are. Be a downer like the fuckin’ rest of us.” 

Dick smiled, but Jason could tell from a mile away that it was fake. 

Hm, he was learning. 

....

“It’s a girl.” 

It was exactly 2:32 PM on June 14th, and Jon was five seconds away from becoming a sentient firecracker. 

He was lightheaded from flying for more than the recommended time limit, emotionally whacked-out and extremely weary. Whatever boundless energy he had gained from years of perfecting his abilities was flushed down the metaphorical drain. 

He was tired. So, so tired. He was battling the yearning to slide underneath his bed-frame and pretend he didn’t exist, but Damian’s only been missing for about two days. Everyone kept promising that he couldn’t have wandered far, but Jon wasn’t just worried about him. 

He was worried about their baby. 

And now, he was growing lachrymose because of Conner’s announcement that his artichoke-sized offspring was a girl, and he was conflicted on whether to burst into tears or scream loud enough to shatter every window within a three-mile radius. Damian was carrying their daughter, and he wasn’t here to tell Jon the gender himself. 

Conner had arrived a few minutes prior, and it bothered him to see Jon, who was the walking definition of sunshine, be so gloomy and depressed. 

It grated on his nerves, but he kept his composure, and sat beside his little brother on the edge of the brownstone. Their legs dangled to the bustling crowds and sidewalks below, but nobody noticed the guardians above them. 

“I get that this is stressful for you, especially because of what happened at school, but Damian’s a smart kid. Very smart. Wherever he is, he knows what he’s doing. I’m sure that if we can’t find him, he’ll come back in his own time”, the fellow Alpha vowed, patting the space between Jon’s shoulder-blades. 

The thirteen-year-old sniffled, tears threatening to spill from his aquamarine orbs. “I’m really confused”, he rasped, and Conner tilted his head. 

Jon glanced up at him and explained, “We’re supposed to know what to do no matter what, right? Like, we’re superheroes; we’re not supposed to panic or be really sad or deal with a ton of drama. But I…I am panicking, and I am really sad right now, and I am dealing with a ton of drama. And I don’t…I don’t know what to do anymore, or what to feel…” 

He trailed off when his throat tightened, and he wiped at his eyes while Conner wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“I know how confusing everything can be. But, none of us, not even Clark, has known what to do all the time. It’s okay for anyone, including superheroes, to be panicked and sad and confused. Either way, those are just parts of life. The key is to not let those emotions distract you from your goal.” 

Jon nodded along, occasionally sniffling or hiccuping, and then inquired shyly, “Are you scared about, you know…having your pups? Like, do you feel like you’ll know what to do?” Conner actually laughed at that, genuinely amused by that question. 

“Are you kidding me? I pretty much have no idea what to do. And yeah, I’m scared, but more than anything else, I’m excited. It’s an opportunity to bring more positivity into the world, and to have something that’s just ours. I’m nervous and a bit unprepared, but I’m looking forward to it. You should, too.” 

“But we’re giving her up for adoption. Well, if Dami comes back”, Jon sighed, expression falling again. 

“I have a hunch that this is his way of saying that he’s going to keep her no matter what anyone does. If he does, you’ll have to help him. I know you’re really young and feel lost, but the rest of us aren’t going anywhere. We’ll be here for both of you.” 

Jon nodded once more and whispered his thanks. This all was morbidly comedic, really. In the beginning, Damian didn’t want her while Jon did. Now, it was partially the opposite. The universe must find that so unfairly entertaining. 

Conner hugged him, but he didn’t reciprocate. He just wanted Damian and his daughter to return to him. 

Was that really too much to ask?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where is Damian? How will Jon and Jason proceed from here? Will everyone, including Bruce, just end up being emotional wrecks? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> All your comments, kudos and bookmarks are very much appreciated! Seriously, they just brighten my day. Thanks for reading. 
> 
> P.S. Alfred is such a man of wisdom, is he not?


	10. (Not) Scared of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian receives a voicemail from his Baba with a morbid joke, followed by a call from a woman he had hoped would stay out of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy, running away from home and mentioned past abuse. If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> This chapter is longer than the others, but it's important, I promise. I've been wanting to only update this once a week to keep a consistent schedule, but at this point, I'm just updating whenever I have inspiration, so here's the third chapter of this week haha. 
> 
> Also, Jason's prolonged joke is just a slightly-altered version of the "God Joke" from the television series "Watchmen", and I make him admit that it's not original because I'm paranoid about accidentally plagiarizing something even though this is fanfiction lol. 
> 
> Next, I know the characters in "Watchmen" and the New 52 followed by DC Rebirth don't exist within the same universe until the events of "Doomsday Clock", but I couldn't help myself haha. 
> 
> And last, but not least: I decided to end “Some People Have Real Problems” on a big cliffhanger with some loose ends since it’s just a prequel to this, but all the loose ends such as Fantasia, Slade’s involvement with Jason, Dick and Barbara’s friendship, etc. will be resolved in this and the eventual Part 3! 
> 
> Enjoy.

Damian was having an exceptionally atrocious evening. 

The weather was crummy and unpleasant, the suffocating humidity causing each inhale to feel like he was swallowing sewage. While the atmosphere was sweltering, a surprise rainstorm resulted in his clothes plastering to his physique, which was highly unappreciated. 

Every droplet was like a heated shower, so in the middle of a goddamn rainstorm, he was sweating like an unfit marathon contestant. 

Well, he was becoming somewhat unfit nowadays, what with unwelcome fat layering in his midsection and thighs, causing his hips to widen and his breasts to enlarge and honestly? He just felt overweight, and that made him self-conscious. 

He knew he was gaining the required amount of weight for someone of his height during gestation, but he didn’t feel comfortable in his own skin anymore. Fuck, he missed looking like a professional martial artist that could kick any ass into next week and onward. 

Meanwhile, he was beginning to grow homesick, which was definitely an issue. For three weeks, he had been moving throughout the shadowiest corners of Gotham City until he reached Blüdhaven, which was Grayson’s territory. 

But, he knew that his step-father/formerly adoptive brother was probably occupied by keeping the Bat Family from jumping at each other’s throats, so he wasn’t too concerned about being spotted. 

The problem was that he didn’t have an official domicile, so he was, essentially, the equivalent of a homeless person. The thirteen-year-old was plenty capable of renting an apartment somewhere, but he would have to discuss it with a landlord, who would realize that he was underage and likely report him to the police, especially when they noticed his swollen belly. 

Yeah, that wasn’t on his agenda or bucket-list, so he followed his instincts and halfway-slumbered underneath abandoned balconies and rickety overpasses, keeping a safe distance from any unwanted attention. 

Titus was excellent at alerting him of trouble, growling whenever a stranger approached, and occasionally barking or biting at them. 

His protectiveness over Damian was increasing as his owner’s pregnancy progressed, which the ebony-haired boy appreciated. Who needed a bodyguard when they could have a gargantuan Great Dane? And yet, Titus had a tendency to yank on his leash to gnaw on cardboard boxes or expired food, which was annoying. 

Overall, Damian was beginning to regret running away. He had another ultrasound and physical scheduled for last weekend, but hadn’t been there for it. 

Sure, he had vast knowledge of the medical field, but the League of Assassins had never schooled him on conception, pregnancy or childbirth, so he was basically clueless on his pup’s condition. 

Fortunately, she was most active during certain hours, and her sleeping schedule was aligned with his. Whenever Damian napped for an hour, she would settle down in his womb with him. Whenever he was speed-walking through traffic, she would jab at his innards in an almost playful manner. 

Her movements were strengthening with each passing day, the flutters and ruffles turning into powerful kicks that reminded him of Grayson’s roundhouse kick. 

Either way, Damian had developed a habit of voicing his thoughts to her when he was anxious or talkative, often in Arabic so she could get a head-start on the main language of the estranged side of his lineage. 

But, he wasn’t in the mood to have a one-sided conversation. He just…really wanted to cry until his tear-ducts became deserts. 

A disadvantage of pregnancy was that his scrambled hormones coupled with his unpredictable situation triggered emotional mood swings, most of which were centered around bawling his eyes out and sobbing uncontrollably. 

Of course, he only did it when nobody was in his radius, but his bouts of crying fits always stemmed from the pressure of everything. 

He was groomed from a mere three-years-old to be emotionally, physically and financially independent, but he was in a vulnerable position and he longed for his Baba’s amazing hugs and Father’s attempts at being affectionate and Pennyworth’s homemade cooking. 

More than anything, he desired Jon, which infuriated him beyond comprehension. 

Sniffling under his breath, Damian waited at a crosswalk while rain smacked against his drenched clothes and dampened, ebony hair, a hand cupping his round abdomen. He was just overwhelmed, but was hoping that this ridiculous need to cry would soon pass like a cloudburst. 

He’s only been missing for three weeks. 

Baba, Grayson and Gordon could fill in for his assignments as Robin without a hitch. It wasn’t like he could keep patrolling in this condition, anyway. He would just become breathless in ten minutes and have to piss for the trillionth time. 

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, but he pretended not to notice. 

Jon had been texting him as if he were conceived for that single purpose, while Baba kept dropping voicemails and the Titans were blowing up the group-chat that was supposed to be for mission briefings. Seriously, did they not understand that he was intentionally ignoring them? 

Perhaps he should just block their numbers. 

And yet, the missed call and voicemail he just received beckoned to him. The crosswalk light switched to a stick-figure symbol, and grizzled journalists and overworked college students mumbled complaints as they maneuvered around him, a few shooting glares in his direction when he didn’t move. 

Damian swallowed, emerald eyes focused on the flooding cement beneath him, his battered sneakers filling with water and soaking his socks. 

He shivered and tugged on Titus’ leash, steering his canine towards him. They huddled together underneath a flickering streetlamp, his right palm still pressed to his belly. 

For twenty-one weeks, she was bigger than he had estimated, but he tried not to think about that too much. His plate was already overflowing, so the last thing he needed was another concern to eventually panic about. 

Titus whimpered and licked Damian’s flushed cheek, and the thirteen-year-old scratched behind his oversized ears. He was guessing that the witching hour was upon them, and remembered that tomorrow was Jon’s 14th birthday. 

Damian had never once bought him a gift, but that was simply because he didn’t know what would make Jon ecstatic. 

Not flattered or joyous, but ecstatic. 

Of course, Jon always insisted that Damian’s company was all he needed, amused smile shining like a sunbeam. Hm, what a load of bullshit. 

After contemplating it for another five minutes, the petite teenager pulled out his phone, shielding it from the rainstorm as he checked its contact history. 

His composure withered away when he viewed the abundance of messages from his relatives. A majority contained the question “are you okay?”, while some had the statement, “wherever you are, I hope you’re happy.” 

The edges of his vision blurred, and he growled in irritation. Why were they all making this so goddamn hard? Didn’t they understand that he didn’t wish to communicate with them? 

The absolute shittiest part was that they all acted like they supported his opinions, but if he returned, they would just swipe his daughter from him the second she emerged from him. 

But, the most recent voicemail from his Baba tempted him for an unidentifiable reason, until he finally tapped on his screen and held the speaker to his eardrum. 

“Hey, Habibi. It’s Baba, obviously, for the, uh…twenty-ninth time. Jesus, I must be drivin’ ya’ insane, yeah? But, you’re my kid; my only kid, so I think I have a right ta’ worry ‘bout ya’.” 

He heard his parent sigh heavily and go silent for a moment, and Damian sighed in return. Then, the audio recording continued with, “I got somethin’ funny for ya’. I know you’ve got a twisted sense of humor, so I think you’ll like it. I hope you’ll yell at me if ya’ don’t.” 

Damian parted his bitten lips, almost as if they were speaking instead of him just listening to a raspy, accented voice from a hundred or so miles away. 

“So, here’s the joke. It’s long, but you’ll get it. Stop me if you’ve heard it: there’s this guy. He’s a professional assassin. He’s real good at it, and he builds the weapons himself. He’s a master at his craft ‘cause he’s precise. Every edge and chain has its place. Anyway, the guy has a grandson, and he’s goin’ ta’ teach him ta’ be an assassin ‘cause all a man really has is his legacy. 

“So, Grandpa decides ta’ build another double-edged sword ta’ teach him the basics. He does the math. He figures out everythin’ he needs, and he shows the grandson everythin’ step-by-step. And when he finishes, it’s a beauty. It’s a perfect sword with two perfect blades. Just the way he drew it in the sketchbook. Only one problem: there’s a blade left over. One single blade.” 

Damian quirked an eyebrow, but kept listening. 

“The guy freaks out. He must have done somethin’ wrong. He’s goin’ ta’ have ta’ start all over again. So, he picks up the sledgehammer ta’ smash it and suddenly, his grandson says, ‘Grandfather, wait. I’ve got an idea.’ He picks up the orphan blade and he throws it up inta’ the air as high as he can. Now, onta’ a different part of the joke.” 

The thirteen-year-old had no fucking idea where the comedic element was in that, but kept the phone pressed to his ear anyway, rubbing the side of his growing midsection. 

“Three heroes die and they all show up at the Pearly Gates. God’s there ta’ decide what their eternal fate will be: Heaven, or Hell? Our first hero was dressed up like a big bat. And God says, ‘I gifted ya’ the ability ta’ make fantastic inventions. What did ya’ do with this amazin’ talent?’ 

“And Bat Guy says, ‘I made this incredible vehicle that can turn inta’ an airplane and lots of useful weapons so I could bring peace ta’ my city.’ And God asks, ‘So, how many people did ya’ kill?’ Bat Guy seems offended. ‘None’, he says, ‘I did not take a single life.’ God frowned, ‘Sorry, Bat Guy. Your heart’s in the right place, but you’re just too soft.’ God snaps his fingers, and the hero goes ta’ Hell.” 

Damian’s eyes widened. Was that supposed to depict Father? 

“The Pearly Gates await our next hero in line for almighty judgment. Our Hero Number 2 is confident he can game this out ‘cause that’s his God-given talent: smarts. Some might even say he was the smartest man in the world. ‘So, what’d ya’ do with that big brain I gave ya’?’, asks God. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I saved humanity’, says Crazy-Genius. ‘Well, how’d ya’ do that?’, asks God. 

“’Well, I helped save the planet by droppin’ an alien mothership on Kansas, and everyone was so afraid of it that they stopped bein’ afraid of each other.’ ‘Okay…’, says God, ‘um, how many people did ya’ kill?’ Crazy-Genius smiles, ‘100,000, give-or-take. But, nothin’ can be accomplished without some sacrifice.’ ‘Wow’, God says, ‘you’re a fuckin’ monster.’ ‘No, I am not’, says Crazy-Genius. God snaps his fingers. The hero goes ta’ Hell.” 

Damian was guessing that second scenario portrayed Lex Luthor, but who knows anymore? 

“We’re down ta’ the gritty shit now. God cracks his knuckles, ready ta’ administer the final reckonin’. Now, Hero Number 3 is pretty much a God himself, so for the sake of tellin’ them apart, he wears blue and likes ta’ stroll around with a big, S-shaped target on his chest. He can fly, shoot lasers from his eyes and blow shit up. He’s got actual superpowers. 

“So, God asks Blue God, ‘What’d ya’ do with these gifts?’ And Blue God says, ‘I fell in love with a woman. Then I flew ta’ the Sun. Then I had a kid with the woman I fell for. Then I won a bunch of wars. But mostly, I just don’t give a shit about humanity.’ God sighs, ‘Do I even need ta’ ask how many people you’ve killed?’ Blue God shrugs, ‘A live body and a dead body have the same number of particles, so it doesn’t matter. And, it doesn’t matter how I answer your question ‘cause I know you’re sendin’ me ta’ Hell.’ 

'How do ya’ know that?’, asks God. And Blue God sounds very, very sad when he says, ‘Cause I’m already there.’ And so, God does what he has and does and will do: he snaps his fingers, and the hero goes ta’ Hell.” 

Damian was utterly intrigued at this point. That last person sounded like a mixture of Superman and Superboy-Prime, and he wondered how his Baba conjured this up. 

“And so, it’s been a long day at the Pearly Gates, and all the heroes have gone ta’ Hell. His work done, God’s packin’ up ta’ go home. And then, he notices someone waitin’, but it’s not a hero; it’s just a boy. ‘Where did ya’ come from?’, asks God. ‘Oh, I was standin’ behind those other people the whole time. Ya’ just didn’t see me.’ 

“’Did I give ya’ a talent?’, God asks. ‘No, none of significant importance’, says the boy. God gives him a good, long look and says, ‘I’m so sorry, I’m embarrassed. Seriously, this almost never happens, but…I don’t know who ya’ are…’ 

“And the boy looks at God, and he firmly says, ‘I’m the little boy who threw the blade in the air.’ And there’s a sound from above. Somethin’ fallin’: the blade. God looks up, but it’s too late. God never saw it comin’. It hits so hard, his brains shoot out of his nose. Game over. He’s dead. And where does God go when he dies? He goes ta’ Hell.” 

Damian blinked, genuinely astonished. That was such a depressing, prolonged joke, and yet, totally understandable. 

Of course, his Baba confessed that he based it off of some jest from the television series Watchmen, which centered around vigilantes most people refused to acknowledge. 

Damian wanted to compliment Baba’s contrast of Father, Luthor and Superman with Nite Owl, Ozymandias and Dr. Manhattan, but obviously, couldn’t do that. Come to think of it, was that little boy inspired by him? 

Damian frowned. 

His Baba sighed yet again, and then muttered with a humorless chuckle, “I know that was grim, but you’ve never laughed at jokes that everybody else likes. That’s okay. Just makes ya’ unique, and a bit of a downer, heh…I know I’ve said this a million times and so has everyone else, but…please come home, Damian. You’re the only pup I’ve got; nothin’ in the whole fuckin’ world means more ta’ me than ya’. I get that you’re stayin’ away so ya’ can keep your pup, but if ya’ come back, I’ll…I’ll consider lettin’ ya’ keep her. I need ta’ accept that you’re not a little kid anymore, so ya’ should have some say in it. Besides, if she has powers, we can’t just give her ta’ some random couple, can we?” 

The thirteen-year-old’s lips quivered, and Titus whined, his chin propped on Damian’s shoulder. 

“Anyway, I’ll let ya’ go. Just…even if ya’ don’t wanna come back, give me some sign that you’re okay. I need ta’ know that my little Habibi’s safe, okay? Please just do that for me, and I’ll leave ya’ alone if ya’ want me ta’. I love ya’, Dami; so damn much. Stay safe out there.” 

The phone clicked, indicating that the voicemail was over. Damian inhaled tremblingly, considering replaying it and using it as a lullaby. That sounded childish, but this darkness overhead was unsettling sometimes. 

He carefully stood up and stretched, his spine popping pleasantly while his baby nudged his bladder, and he groaned. She always made him have to use the bathroom at the worst possible moment. The lukewarm rain was still pattering against him, but it was like static against his skin now. 

And then, his phone buzzed yet again. Damian wracked a hand through his dampened hair and was about to ignore it when he saw the caller ID. 

He froze like a deer caught in headlights. 

It was her. 

Damian answered and immediately inquired in Arabic, “Kayf hasalt ealaa hadha alraqm?” 

(“How did you get this number?”). 

There was an amused hum on the opposite line, and a voice smooth as china-glass, yet jagged as shattered icicles replied calmly, “Hm, so you’re speaking in our native tongue. Alright. ‘Ana mundahish ‘anak aietaqadat ‘anani ln ‘ahsil ealayhi. ‘Ana walidatik baed kli shay’in.” 

(“I’m surprised that you thought I would not have it. I am your mother, after all”). 

Damian screwed his eyes tightly shut, and stated firmly, “Im natahadath mundh eamayn, limadha tatasil bi alan?” 

(“We have not spoken in two years. Why are you calling me now?”). 

Talia seemed to hesitate for a second, which was uncharacteristic of her. 

But, she then admitted with fake casualness in her tone, “Samiet ean humlik. Ia tus’al kayfa. Ma zilt ‘amlik alqlyl min aleuyun wal’adhnin hawl jutham.” Damian stiffened, automatically flitting his gaze to the rooftops and thousands of windows surrounding him. 

(“I heard about your pregnancy. Do not ask how; I still have quite a few eyes and ears around Gotham”). 

Damian had the sudden desire to launch his phone into the clustered traffic ahead of him, or acquire her location just to stab her through the jugular. That was a graphic fantasy, but Talia had a certain knack for awakening the monster within him. 

The monster that slaughtered countless villages and innocent creatures during the Year of Blood. The monster he worked everyday to suppress and keep chained down in his psyche. 

“lidha kunt tabhath ean warith jadid, ‘aqtarih ealayk hadhaf hdha alrqm. In tadae ‘iisbae ealaa abnataya, hal tafahm?”, he snarled with pure venom and hostility, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention while his hackles bristled. 

(“If you are looking for a new heir, I suggest you delete this number. You will not lay a finger on my daughter, do you understand?”). 

“We are not having the rest of this discussion in Arabic. Your pronunciations are rusty, which only reminds me of your incompetence”, Talia hissed back, and she added before he could protest, “and, you will never talk back to me again unless you want an assassin at your windowsill.” 

Damian stiffened, mildly offended that she would call his Arabic “rusty”, but swallowed his frustration to sigh, “What do you want? I have a busy schedule.” 

The Alpha huffed a laugh. Voluptuous and incalculable, she was like a black widow who could attract any insect into her web of misdirection, Father included. 

Despite her composed demeanor, she had a truly vicious nature, and had not an ounce of remorse when she killed friends or comrades. 

Her personality was like a 120-sided dice, always switching from nurturing to abusive in two seconds flat. 

In the beginning, he had admired her like all arrogant children do, but had seen the horrors she had inflicted upon his Baba, which had opened his eyes to the animal she really was. If he had to compare Talia to someone else, he would choose Rosemary’s demonic baby in a heartbeat. 

“Hm, I am sure you do”, she said sarcastically, but then her tone shifted when she said, “so, I am going to have a granddaughter. That is pleasant news. I am assuming you are staying healthy?” 

Damian scoffed, “Of course I am.” “And I also assume you are keeping her?”, she continued, and he answered softly, “Yes.” 

Talia hummed in vague surprise, and he could hear the click-clack of her claw-like nails against her scabbard. “That is much responsibility for someone so young. I suppose we will just have to wait and see your parenting methods.” 

The younger bared his canines even though she couldn’t see him, and a person dashing by furrowed their brow in confusion. He ignored them. 

“You will not be ‘seeing’ anything because I will not let you near her. Baba and I still have a restraining order against you, and we do not plan to lift it. I am not allowing my pup to go through what I did”, he explained, arm hugging his midsection protectively. Titus sensed the growing tension and distress, and he barked. 

“Stop being overdramatic. It is unbecoming. I trained you to be the epitome of a warrior. And you were, until you switched your moral code to one that is cowardly and weak”, Talia insulted, sounding slightly annoyed. 

He imagined her emerald eyes lighting up with bloodthirsty intentions. 

“Your opinion of me means nothing to me now. I do not care that I am a disappointment to you”, he admitted, though his shoulders sagged at that, his throat tightening again. 

Fuck. 

The other line went mute, until she shocked him with, “You are not a complete disappointment, Damian. But, this is not what I wished to speak to you about. I called to say farewell.” 

Damian frowned in puzzlement, “What do you mean?” 

He could hear her give someone an order, and then elaborated to him, “I cannot tell you much, but I may not return. We currently do not have access to a Lazarus Pit, so the chances of survival are, well…slim. So, I called to say goodbye and to…apologize.” 

The black-haired boy couldn’t stop himself from barking a hysteric laugh, his overheated body beginning to tremble. 

“Apologize for what? Imprisoning and assaulting my Baba against his will? Beating me at the age of three for crying when having to walk across hot coals? Never allowing me to have a childhood? Hiding Father’s true identity from me? Having the audacity to call him your ‘beloved’ and Baba your ‘surrogate?’ Abandoning me multiple times? Oh, how about the time you sent an adult clone of me to assassinate me, and then succeeded without even regretting it?” 

“I called to apologize for all of those sins”, she promised, “and for not giving you the upbringing you deserved.” 

She paused for a moment, and then proceeded with, “Listen to me carefully, Damian: do not raise your daughter the way I raised you. Do not subject her to brutal training and punishments. What I did to you made you broken, and I…I do regret that, my son.” 

Damian couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and snapped in a shaking voice from his rage, “I am not broken.” 

“Yes, you are. Everyone in this family is in some way or another. I apologize for preventing you from being mended sooner. I hope the family, the pack you are currently with is treating you better.” 

His irritation melted away, but his anguish remained. The rain gradually slowed as he confessed, “They were, but…they do not want me to keep the baby. I wanted to, but now I’m…conflicted, I guess.” 

Talia pursed her lipsticked lips in contemplation. “I strongly suggest keeping her. You would be an adequate parent. Their disapproval does not matter.” 

“Why does it matter to you? You never actually cared about me, so why do you suddenly care about her?”, he demanded tearfully, despising that he was becoming emotional over something so trivial. His former mother downcast her eyes on the other line. 

“I did care about you, Damian. And, I still do. Even in death, I will. I care for her because she is part of you. I am confident you both will turn out fine.” 

The thirteen-year-old inhaled shakily and grimaced as a warm tear slipped down his cheek. Eventually, after taking a few steadying breaths, he told her, “Alright. Well, I do not accept your apology.” 

“I was suspecting you would say that. That is fine”, Talia assured him, and he replied, “Alright. I have to go now.” He pulled the phone away to hang up on her when she commanded, “Wait. At least tell me this: when are you due?” 

Damian couldn’t resist shuddering; he was only four months to kitting, which was honestly nerve-wracking. 

“Late October. Why do you ask?”, he inquired, and was startled to hear, “She will receive an anonymous gift every year around that time, even if I perish. Now, I must depart as well, but I hope you find happiness with your family.” Damian’s breath hitched, and he murmured, “Thank you.” 

“Also”, she added, “might I suggest Isis for your little one’s name? It means ‘woman of the throne’ in Egyptian.” 

For some reason, Damian was continuing to become choked up, and he whispered in a barely audible voice, “I will keep it in mind…goodbye, Talia.” 

There was an odd sadness in her tone when she whispered back, “Goodbye, Damian.” 

The call ended. The rainstorm passed, leaving darkened, malformed clouds to float throughout the obsidian sky. At this point, Titus was falling asleep beside his owner, head nodding and jerking up as he attempted to stay awake. 

Damian shoved his phone into his jacket and clapped a hand over his mouth when a sob threatened to escape, tears leaking from his tired eyes. 

He shouldn’t mourn for Talia. 

He shouldn’t miss her or be distraught, but he was and that sickened him and overwhelmed him until he was a weeping, palpitating mess on a street corner. 

He was crying. And he cried…and cried…and cried…and cried…and cried…and cried—

“Hey.” 

He whipped around to the source of the greeting. Jon was perched atop a crumbling restaurant, his aquamarine eyes like lighthouse beams in the darkness. They stared at each other for what felt like eons, until Damian rasped, “Hey.” 

Jon cleared his throat awkwardly and fidgeted with his crimson cape. Damian copied the action, only with his backpack. 

Eventually, the young Alpha announced shyly, “It’s my birthday.” 

Damian hummed, glancing up at that familiar, porcelain face. He nodded. 

“Yeah. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Damian tell Jon about his talk with Talia? Will he agree to go home with Jon, or stay away? Will one of them have a change of heart on what they should do with their baby? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> All your comments, kudos and bookmarks are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading. 
> 
> Also, the words in parentheses are the translations from Arabic.


	11. Born on the 4th of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian and Jon have a confrontation, and lots of crying ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy, unintentional physical abuse and arguing. If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> And here is another chapter! I rewrote this three or four times, by I'd say I'm decently satisfied with the finished product. I hope you all are, as well. 
> 
> Enjoy.

“…Ow.” 

There was something so sickening, yet so satisfying when a harmful action was inflicted upon someone. 

There was this unexplainable thrill that brought a surge of gratification, before the realization soaked in and the compunction triggered a bout of lightheadedness, just from the disbelief of it all. You become culpable to that physical toxicity, but don’t entirely feel remorse.

Jon was currently working through that nauseating sensation, his calloused fingers crackling involuntarily. His breathing was ragged and his porcelain cheeks were flushed red from his tantrum, and his own heartbeat thrummed in his eardrums as he gawked at Damian. 

This would have been considered typical, immature banter if it weren’t for Damian’s condition. Now, it would possibly be viewed as physical assault, because unlike the fracturing-nose incident, this was intentional. Both of them knew it. 

Personal belongings such as clothing, hygiene products and a few novels were scattered across the sidewalk, with Damian’s battered backpack under the streetlamp. 

The thirteen-year-old was staring at him owlishly in bewilderment, and Jon’s breath hitched as he attempted to apologize, but found himself to be speechless. 

Normally, a backpack smacking against someone was hardly worth a reaction, but Jon had chucked it as if it were a bowling ball directed to a single pin, and it had slammed into Damian with just enough force to knock the oxygen out of his lungs. 

He had regained his breath since then, but couldn’t register the fact that if Jon had angled it just a few inches lower, it would have collided square into his rounding belly. And that…that was both infuriating and heartbreaking. 

“Dami…D-Dami, I’m sorry…”, Jon trailed off, whimpering and lips quivering when Damian dropped his emerald gaze to his dirtied sneakers, disbelief still evident in his facial features. 

This wasn’t how this encounter was supposed to go. 

Jon had been beyond thrilled when he had spotted Damian while doing an aerial patrol, though he should have been home an hour prior. 

It was currently closing in on 1:30 AM, and Mom was going to have a field-day deciding his punishment. But, something had compelled Jon to extend his patrol, and he had been so glad that he did. 

Well, until now. 

“Get away from me”, Damian murmured, voice cracking at the end as he continued to stare at his counterpart. Jon swallowed audibly, panic consuming him as he observed Damian carefully lower to his knees to stuff all of his personal items into his backpack, with Titus growling beside him protectively. 

Jon’s vision blurred, especially in his peripherals, and he battled the compulsion to sob like a toddler spilling their glass of milk. Damian would definitely disapprove of that, so he scrubbed at his eyes rather roughly to rid them of any evidence of sadness. 

It was childish of him to react in the manner that he did. They were just having a cautious conversation less than fifteen minutes before, and then Damian outright refused to accompany Jon back to Gotham City. 

That soured the atmosphere, and then Jon suddenly felt the impulse to throw Damian’s backpack at him. This was the consequence, and he was at a loss on how to repair it. 

But, when the Omega picked up his backpack and started walking in the opposite direction with Titus trotting beside him, Jon couldn’t restrain himself from blurting out, “Through this whole thing, you’ve never once asked me how I feel! This is my kid, too! I have to deal with just as much pain as you do!” 

Damian immediately whipped around to glare threateningly at him, and he scoffed incredulously, “Do not act like you’re the victim! You do not have to deal with the physical repercussions! You do not have to feel another life grow inside you, only to give it away! You are not ridiculed and judged for this because you are not the one with the evidence right underneath your clothes! You cannot relate to how I feel!” 

Jon almost fucking cackled at that, and the blossoming irritation from before returned and increased tenfold. 

“I might not be the one pregnant”, he exclaimed, “but I’ve faced judgement, too! I have to live with the guilt of making you go through this! If I hadn’t been in the headquarters at the time, you never would’ve called me to you, and I never would’ve listened, and we never would’ve done it! But, I also have to deal with the fact that after everything we’ve been through together, you don’t give a crap about me!” 

Damian fully turned around, brow furrowing in a mixture of confusion and disapproval. He dropped his backpack onto the sidewalk, and crossed his arms over his enlarged chest to question sharply, “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Jon bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to bleed, the coppery taste invading his mouth while he restrained himself from blowing another fuse. 

He inhaled shakily through his nose, and then approached Damian until their faces were mere inches apart. His heart literally ached when the younger flinched, as if he were expecting another attack, only to a more vulnerable area. 

God, Jon was fucking up, but he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“I’ve done everything you’ve wanted me to! I hid this pup from everyone even though I’m a horrible liar! I went with you changing your mind about the abortion! I agreed to help you convince Red Hood to not make you put her up for adoption! But, you never once asked my opinion on any of it! You just assumed that I’d agree to everything you want! You use me as someone to…t-to bitch and complain to and never ask me how I feel! You never acknowledged that I…that I-I’m…” 

He trailed off, cleared his throat awkwardly, and confessed, “…That I’m in love with you.” 

Damian’s reaction wasn’t pretty; in fact, he seemed downright offended. “You are not in love with me! You are just confused!”, he insisted, judgement seeping into his tone and tired eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

Jon clenched his fingers into white-knuckled fists at his hips, and he screamed hysterically, “I know my fucking emotions, Damian! Yeah, we’re really young and made a stupid decision, but we’ve been through hell together! We’ve been to other galaxies together; we’ve watched friends die and we grieved together! We’ve been comrades; friends; enemies in the beginning! And through it all, I’ve realized how much I love you! What the fuck do I need to do to convince you that you deserve to be loved?! Why do you keep punishing yourself?!” 

“Shut up! I do not love you!”, Damian snapped harshly, baring his tiny, yet needle-sharp canines up at the young Alpha. 

The fourteen-year-old’s vision blurred yet again, and he ordered, “Cut the bullshit already!” Damian visibly stiffened, eyes widening at that command. 

Jon wildly gestured with his calloused hands as he practically shrieked, “I know you’re not the type to say ‘I love you’, but you’ve shown it! When we first became teammates, I annoyed you, but you stuck by me! When I wanted to join the Titans, you vouched for me! Out of all of our friends, you always choose to hang out with me! You’ve taken bullets and stabs for me! I know you love me; don’t say that I’m putting words in your mouth! You’ve shown me that you do and it means more to me than anything, so stop hurting yourself and me!” 

“SHUT UP!”, Damian barked, distress radiating off of him in tsunami waves as he spat with his arms raised in the air, “We are not meant to love each other! I am not meant to love anyone and no one is meant to love me! It is a weakness!” 

“No, it’s not! Love is love, Damian!”, Jon reminded him as if it were written in graffiti on the brownstone beside them, and he leaned in even closer so Damian would have no choice but to join in eye contact. 

“We’ve been best friends for forever; we’ve told each other everything. It’s not a weakness. You caring for me has gotten me through hell and back. Why won’t you just accept that I love you?” 

“Shut the fuck up!”, the smaller boy demanded, “You do not love me!” Jon’s cheeks flushed in unbridled annoyance. 

“Yes, I do!” 

“No, you don’t!” 

“Yes, I do!” 

“No, you don’t! Shut your mouth and just get it over-with!” 

Jon’s expression morphed from irritation into perplexity, and he wondered aloud, “Get what over-with?” 

Damian hesitated, breath audibly hitching, and then he screwed his eyes tightly shut. “If I’ve caused you this much turmoil”, he muttered, “then I deserve punishment. Hit me.” 

The Kryptonian almost had mental whiplash at that sentence, and cried incredulously, “What? No! I’m not striking the person carrying my pup! And even if you weren’t pregnant, I would never hit you!” 

Damian scoffed. 

“Really? You just did. You threw a backpack at me, fractured my nose and gut-punched me when we first met!” 

“You know I regret all of those! I don’t want to ever hurt you!”, Jon whined, his tears beginning to overflow from the guilt and pressure of it all. 

Goddamnit, he missed being a kid. Everything was so fucking easy when he had no idea what issues and existential crises were. 

“Hit me, now!”, Damian shouted, snatching up his wrist and yanking Jon’s trembling fist towards his cheekbone. 

“No! Let go!”, the Alpha freaked out, terrified of accidentally harming him, and attempted to wrench his wrist out of Damian’s titanium grasp when the thirteen-year-old spat, “Just do it already! Strike me!” 

The debilitating nausea from when he chucked the backpack returned, and Jon resisted the urge to vomit by ordering, “No! Stop it, Damian!” 

He was genuinely petrified by his crush’s behavior, especially when he saw Damian’s bloodshot eyes glisten with unspilled tears. 

“STRIKE ME, YOU COWARD!”, he insulted, and Jon finally exploded like an activated volcano. 

“Stop it!”, he shrieked, “I’m not hitting you or our daughter! STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!” 

Damian released his wrist in a heartbeat. Jon’s exclamation boomed throughout the otherwise eerily-silent neighborhood, bouncing off the cobblestone roads and multitude of windows to echo back into their eardrums. 

Jon was sobbing. 

Damian was sobbing. 

Titus whimpered and cowered in-between them. 

Damian self-consciously hugged his midsection and lowered to the ground, violent sobs wracking through him. Jon stood there for a minute, crying just as dramatically before cautiously kneeling down. 

He tremblingly wrapped his sinewy arms around his friend, burying his face in that unmarked scent gland to inhale his aroma of gardenias greedily, throat tightening and eyelids stinging. 

Damian shoved his humiliation aside to burrow into Jon’s ironclad embrace, his waterfalls of tears staining the other’s costume, right where the S-shaped symbol was. 

Or, as his Baba called it, a target. 

“…I’m not a good person”, he whispered, crying more while Jon tightened his hold. “I couldn’t be a good warrior for Talia, or an obedient son to Father and Baba. I couldn’t be a good leader to the Titans, and I’m a pathetic excuse for an Omega.” That self-deprecation caused the fourteen-year-old to growl protectively. 

“Stop it”, he stated, “no one’s perfect, but you’re the closest to it. You fight for yourself; you’ve fricken’ died to protect people you hardly knew. You’re a great warrior, son, leader and Omega. And I love you. So, so much, Dami.” 

His voice cracked at the end, and he nuzzled that olive-colored cheek while his companion mumbled under his breath, “…I love you too, I guess…” 

But, he kept crying even after Jon’s frazzled nerves had calmed, and the Alpha tilted his head in a combination of confusion and concern. 

“Hey, you can stop crying now”, he chuckled, and Damian squirmed out of his grasp to sit on his haunches, sniffling and whimpering. Their kneecaps pressed together as Damian exclaimed, “No, because being pregnant is horrible!” 

Before Jon could reply, Damian motioned to his swollen midsection and listed, “I feel overweight and my back won’t stop hurting and I really want doughnuts and my bras don’t fit anymore and my nipples really hurt. I just want my body back!” 

Jon instinctively rubbed the scent glands in his inner wrists against the nape of Damian’s neck to comfort him, and he replied as if he were talking to a frightened animal, “Please don’t bring yourself down, Dami. You look beautiful.” 

Damian gagged playfully and rolled his eyes in mock disgust, cheeks tinting a light shade of pink. He leaned back into that amazing warmth, and huffed, “Ugh, shut up already.” 

Jon kissed the crown of his head, and petted that feather-soft hair as he asked softly, “Is anything else not feeling great?” 

His friend hummed, and then murmured while fiddling with the collar of Jon’s shirt, “My ankles are swollen. She won’t stop kicking right now. I’ve been lactating nonstop and it is ruining the shirts I have left. You are fortunate you never have to go through this.” 

“I guess so”, Jon mumbled, sighing as he listened to that third heartbeat, shielded by a water cushion and sinewy muscles. 

He then added when Damian subconsciously started to purr, “But, I still go by what I said: you’re beautiful. You can’t deny it. Also, happy 4th of July and my birthday.” 

Damian rolled his eyes again and was about to respond when his phone vibrated for the trillionth time. He groaned in annoyance and snatched it out of his jacket to check it, and Jon noticed the ebony-haired boy stiffen, eyes seeming to scan something repeatedly. 

“What’s wrong?”, he inquired, leaning in to try and catch a glimpse of the message. 

Damian glanced up at him, alarm written within his expression. 

“Drake’s in labor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where will Damian and Jon's relationship go from here? Will Damian agree to come home? Will he forgive Tim for being a jerk? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> All of your comments, kudos and bookmarks make me so happy, and they're highly appreciated! Seriously, they really motivate me and brighten my day, so thank you! Thanks for reading.


	12. Call Her By Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian and Jon babysit Tim's twins to gain some parenting experience. A name is chosen for their daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy and mentioned C-section. If you are sensitive to either of these, please do not read! 
> 
> So, I know Bruce and Barbara still haven't been given any dialogue, but I promise they will be soon. I would say this story is halfway done or so, and once it's finished, Part 3 will be published. But, we still have a little ways to go, so I hope you guys like this chapter! 
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> P.S. I listened to Juice WRLD's "Legends Never Die", and now I'm sad XD.

For his first evening as a babysitter, Damian was royally fucking up. 

He had unintentionally managed to make two identical newborns scream their heads off like banshees in a span of an hour, and was scrambling for a solution before their parent strangled the daylights out of him. 

He had accidentally dropped his phone onto Scout’s forehead right when the three-week-old had drifted off into a slumber, and then spilled the container of breastmilk Tim had pumped when he tripped over the leg of the crib, which splashed the liquid onto Cosmo’s face and triggered a crying fit. 

Damian had internally cursed his mistakes at least a thousand times in the last five minutes. He had insisted on confiscating the baby-monitor from Tim’s bedroom so the fellow Omega could finally catch some desperately-needed shuteye, but was beginning to regret that decision. 

The fourteen-year-old was guessing that Tim could hear his offspring and detect their distress, but was waiting for how Damian would solve the problem. 

This arrangement commenced only about a day after Damian had concurred to accompany Jon back to Gotham City, just as Tim had been wheeled in for an emergency C-section that just about gave both Conner and Bruce heart-attacks. 

By the time they arrived, the twins had been removed from the ether in which they were forged, and Tim had been practically stupefied from exhaustion and anesthesia. 

The major downside of that was that when he realized Damian was sitting near his bedside, he had bawled his eyes out about how remorseful he was of how he treated Damian, and begged for a second chance. 

Of course, Damian had been hesitant, but had cracked when he noticed just how genuine Tim’s pleas had been. And so, he and Tim made amends, and the following day, he explained to everyone why he had left with no explanation. 

After an hour-long discussion with both his Baba and Father (they had obviously struggled with being on the same page and still were), they agreed to allow Damian to keep his daughter, if he promised to have commitment and dedication to her, his persona as Robin and his studies (he was going to be homeschooled again). 

Damian had accepted the challenge, though his Baba was still highly conflicted about it. That was understandable, but Damian was powerfully attached to this baby growing inside him, as was Jon. 

Speaking of which, he and Jon had reconciled when Damian confessed that he hadn’t taken the Alpha’s emotions into consideration, and they vowed to respect each other’s opinions. 

If they had second thoughts after she was born, they would put her up for adoption. If they were still connected to her, they would keep her and raise her with the (just slightly reluctant) aid of the Bat and Super Families. 

So, to gain some experience with mothering neonates (especially since he was in his sixth month and was behind on preparation), Damian decided to be a night-nanny of sorts for Tim and Conner since he was temporarily benched as Robin, while Tim would be given the luxury of sleep in return. 

Of course, Damian was paid every hour despite being infinitely wealthy, but he really was volunteering to do this so he wouldn’t be totally clueless with his pup. 

Tim was obsessed with organization and linear schedules, so he had written all requirements down for Damian, including how many ounces of breastmilk at each feeding, when their diapers had to be replaced, etc. 

Normally, the twenty-five-year-old would have no trouble with staying up into the after-hours of the night, but working from home for fourteen hours a day while raising newborn twins was taking its toll on him physically and mentally. 

Conner was at home whenever he could be, which wasn’t that often nowadays. He mainly operated as Superboy in daylight hours, but also worked as an engineer and was assigned to a number of off-world missions that he wasn’t allowed to say no to. 

And so, Tim was doomed to be the main contributor financially while on maternity leave, which basically resulted in zero relaxation. 

Granted, they had planned to have a child after their engagement, but twins were a surprise and Tim was, well…reaching his breaking point. 

He had practically been sleepwalking when he greeted Damian earlier this evening, the bags under his eyes so heavy that the younger was shocked he hadn’t collapsed sooner. 

Tim was the Chief Operating Officer (COO) of Wayne Enterprises, so he was tasked with overseeing the day-to-day administrative and operational functions of the company. He had to report directly to the CEO, Lucius Fox, and was considered second-in-command of the empiric business. 

Everyday, he was promoting or removing employees via a wall of computers, checking their progress, sales, etc. while nursing and monitoring his babies. 

So, it was honestly incredible to witness him literally collapse onto his mattress and shut down in less than a minute. That was such a rarity for him, so Damian was glad he could be of service while helping himself. 

But, the first issue with this was that he couldn’t tell the newborn brothers apart. 

They were entirely, 100% identical, and were, without a doubt, Conner’s offspring. With olympia-blue eyes, porcelain skin and onyx-colored hair, they were miniature versions of their Alpha father, but were curious and unusually aware like Tim. 

Their names were Scout and Cosmo, which weren’t Damian’s favorite names but definitely weren’t the worst, and he was starting to wonder if Cosmo was the one he dropped his phone on, and if Scout was the one with milk splattered on his rosy cheeks. 

Either way, they were extremely displeased with their peaceful slumbers being disrupted, and although Damian didn’t give two shits about Tim’s or anyone else’s approval, he was beyond worried. 

What if Tim deemed him an inadequate caretaker? 

What if that opinion changed his Baba’s hardly-convinced mind, and he was forced to give his daughter away? 

The pressure was mounting, and he was floundering for a solution. 

He was never taught about newborns while growing up with the League of Assassins. He had been taught on how to exterminate life, not encourage it. 

What if, after he had his own baby, he dropped her while bouncing her? 

What if she was colic and it annoyed him, so he lashed out at her? 

What if he was so invested in crimefighting that he refused to feed her or outright forgot to give her attention? 

Damn, was this how his Baba had felt with him? 

If so, it was a fucking horrible paranoia. 

Damian stiffened when Tim groggily called from down the hall, “You got this, or do you need help?” He growled low in his throat, and replied firmly, “I have this under control. Go back to sleep.” 

He carefully scooped up (probably) Cosmo first, carrying him to the changing station in his nursery to clean his petite facial features. 

“My apologies, thamin. I’m not very experienced with children yet”, Damian whispered, maneuvering around his round belly to drape Cosmo onto the cushioned table. He stretched to relieve his aching lower back, grunting in discomfort as he did. 

Dr. Tompkins theorized that his baby might have macrosomia, where she was abnormally large for someone of her gestational age. That concerned Damian greatly, especially with how narrow his pelvic bone was, but he had been assured countless times that so long as these last few months and his kitting were closely monitored, there wouldn’t be complications. 

He switched Cosmo’s stained onesie for a washed pair, delicately snapping it up and tugging the tiny sleeves up even tinier, fragile limbs. The three-week-old finally calmed down once he was in comfortable attire, and Damian left momentarily to fetch his brother. 

Scout was still wailing as he was carried to the nursery, but after being bounced and spoken to softly for a couple minutes, he relaxed, instinctively pressing his nose to Damian’s scent gland. 

Him and his sibling would always be more attached to their biological parent, but they could probably sense that he was a pregnant Omega producing milk, so they lowered their defenses when carried. 

Damian was startled to feel a certain flutter in his heart, as if he were already growing fond of these two. He could only imagine what it would be like to meet his daughter for the first time, but that was still three months off. 

He had time. 

Hopefully. 

“So, how’s your one-boy 'Babysitter’s Club' going?” 

Damian rolled his emerald eyes at the window, where Jon was perched on the sill, observing as the fellow fourteen-year-old (his birthday had been over the weekend) lowered them into their cribs, draping their blankets over them. 

“Do not come any closer. I just calmed them down and they’ll panic if they detect an unfamiliar Alpha”, Damian hissed, and Jon cocked his head like a curious canine. 

“I think they’d recognize me by now. I’m related to them”, Jon stated matter-of-factly, and Damian crossed his arms exasperatedly. 

And yet, he walked up to the window anyway, until his swollen midsection was pressed against the other’s muscular torso. Jon looped an arm around Damian’s neck, glancing at the smaller’s lips with a slight blush. 

It was hilarious, how shy and flustered he still was. 

“Don’t you even think about making out in my kids’ room, or I’ll hit you in the mouth with a birdarang!”, Tim threatened from his cluttered bedroom, and Jon yelped in embarrassment, immediately releasing Damian and squirming on the windowsill awkwardly. 

The Omega couldn’t stifle a huff of amusement, and joked, “Are you certain our second-genders weren’t swapped? You are far too humble to truly be an Alpha.” 

“I promise I am. I’m just ‘emotional’ as Gar calls it”, Jon sighed, but smirked comedically at the jest. Damian rolled his eyes again. “So, you decided to babysit during the day?”, he questioned, walking backwards to drop into the rocking chair situated between the cribs. 

Jon levitated over his nephews, observing them protectively as he answered, “Yup. I’ll watch them when Tim’s working until I go back to school. Then I’ll watch them in the mornings and evenings.” 

Jon had insisted on nannying too so Damian wouldn’t be swamped with all the responsibilities when their baby came, but they both predicted that Tim would enter any minute to scent and check on his pups. 

The nagging concern was interesting to watch, and speak of the devil, the older Omega appeared in the doorway, nostrils flaring as he examined their scents. 

The twins mewled when they detected their dam, squirming their tiny bodies like earthworms until Tim approached them. He extended his arm to rock Scout back to sleep when Damian asked suddenly, “How do you bond with them? Like, how do they recognize you and learn that they’re safe with you?” 

Tim tilted his head, vaguely surprised that this hadn’t been explained to Damian already. “Uh, well, you scent them while purring at them so they can recognize both your smell and voice”, Tim explained, picking up Scout to use as an example. 

He cradled his son in the crook of his arm and trailed his nose along that chubby cheek and scrunched nose, the repetitive rumble of purring resonating from his throat. 

Scout purred squeakily in return, vocal chords still not quite strengthened enough to do it correctly. Tim then picked up Cosmo in his other arm and repeated the process, until the sound of purring filled the nursery. 

Damian’s eyes widened while Jon gawked, but then Tim stopped to say, “I’ll feed them this time. You’re good with them so far.” 

He carried his babies back to his bedroom while Jon murmured, “That felt…weird. Did you feel your heart pick up, too?” Damian nodded, perplexed as to why his throat was tightening at what he just witnessed, and he decided to change the subject. 

“Have you thought of any names for her?”, he inquired, rubbing his hand in an up-and-down motion across his round belly while Jon passed him his phone. Damian briefly scanned the typed list of names, and then raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend. 

“Why are there only celebrity names?”, he interrogated, and Jon said sheepishly, “Um, well we agreed to give her an Arabic or Egyptian name. Shakira and Rihanna are Arabic names.” 

“We are not naming our child Shakira”, Damian stated condescendingly, and Jon slumped his shoulders in disappointment. 

“Fine. What names did you think of?”, he asked, and Damian listed the names and definitions on his fingers. 

“Kalila: beautiful; Amal: to have hope; Guadalupe: from the wolf’s river; Khadija: early child; Malika: queen; and Isis: woman of the throne.” 

Jon hummed in thought, clicking his tongue before admitting, “I’d agree with either Amal or Isis. But, only under one condition.” Damian narrowed his emerald eyes suspiciously at the other’s mischievous smirk. 

“There has to be ‘Lin’ at the beginning of her name”, he ordered, and Damian frowned in confusion. “Why?”, he asked, and Jon replied, “I really like Lin-Manuel Miranda’s music, so we’re honoring him by putting ‘Lin’ in her name.” 

“Lin-Isis sounds mismatched while Lin-Amal is too serious”, Damian sighed, shifting in his seat when their pup landed an almost jarring punch to the space between his ribcage, which wasn’t pleasant. 

“Here, I have an idea”, Jon announced, and he leaned over, cheek brushing against Damian’s as he spider-webbed his fingers on his belly. “What do you want your name to be? Lin-Amal?” 

They waited with bated breath for a minute, but weren’t garnered a reaction from her. 

“How about Lin-Isis?”, Damian inquired, settling on playing along, and they were immediately given a flurry of cramped movement in response, almost as if the name excited her. 

“See? She likes it”, Jon remarked, propping his chin on the crown of Damian’s head while their baby continued to move as if she were somersaulting. 

The smaller boy hummed, but then muttered after a brief period of silence, “Before Drake kitted, he mentioned that people our age see newborns as dolls; playthings that are easily neglected and passed onto someone else. Do you…do you think we’ll end up treating her like that?” 

“No”, Jon replied straightaway, and Damian glanced up at him. 

“My Dad brought that up to me over the weekend. I told him that I would never think of her as a toy. She’s my responsibility just as much as she’s yours.” Damian gave him a ghost of a smile, but had an inkling that this was going to backfire somehow. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t, but he was terrified that it would. 

And that…that outweighed the happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Damian's pregnancy progress from here? Will they stick with the name Lin-Isis? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks! They are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading.


	13. When Fantasia Was There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Damian have a chat, and then Jason finally tells Damian about his unknown sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy, mention of past sexual assault and past suicidal thoughts, childhood cancer and child death. If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> I don't know why it showed that Chapter Twelve was posted on the 15th; it was the 14th lol. 
> 
> Anyway, we're reaching the end, compadres! Thank you to all who have taken the time to read this series and leave comments, kudos and bookmarks! All of your support means so much, and I can't wait to continue this! 
> 
> Enjoy.

Bruce was what some may consider a philanderer. 

Magazines and multicolored tabloids were champions at sculpting rumors into exaggerated, flashy materialities. Photoshop worked like a charm nowadays, and the number of fabricated women who were edited into pictures with him by paparazzi was simply absurd, and quite frankly, annoying. 

Yes, gossip was their forte and he was accustomed to being in the limelight, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy every aspect of literally everyone knowing his name. 

It’s true that he’s been in romantic relations with a variety of females of different occupations, ethnicities and backgrounds, but he wasn’t really the one-night-stand type of Alpha. 

Sure, his nickname by journalists (and Jason) was the “Playboy Billionaire”, but he wasn’t actually that interested in exoticism or mystique. Well, not anymore. 

He had sabotaged a shameful amount of friendships by adding sex into the mix or persuading someone to cheat on a friend of his, such as when he hooked up with Dinah a decade prior, which resulted in Ollie blowing a fuse. 

Julia Pennyworth had been fairly awkward given that Alfred was her father, while Vicki Vale and Sasha Bordeaux were failed attempts at serious relationships. 

Julie Madison had been his first major love interest, but then he betrayed her trust. 

Vesper Fairchild, Jezebel Jet and Silver St. Cloud were murdered, while Andrea Beaumont vanished. 

Meanwhile, everything between him and Talia was just a regrettable shit-show, and Selina was, well…Selina. 

To put it simply, Bruce was not talented maneuvering around the landmine that is romance, and he hadn’t been involved with anyone in almost four years. 

Sure, Selina flirted with him on occasion while Talia was dangerously obsessed with him up until six months ago, but he just wasn’t really focused on finding a mate anymore. 

He had received criticism for not marrying and having children of his own by this age, but Damian was his biological son, and he was plenty satisfied with Dick, Jason, Tim and Barbara as his mismatched litter. 

Plus, he had two grandsons now and a granddaughter due in about three months, so he wasn’t searching for a partner and probably never would again. All of his relationships backfired horribly, anyway. 

But, the relationship that was rockiest as of late wasn’t romantic, but familial. Damian had been growing distant as of late, which was understandable given the drastic changes happening in both his social and personal lives. 

He had a packed schedule despite his condition, babysitting for Tim during weeknights while preparing for homeschool again. Plus, he was determined to be everything he could for his daughter, but Bruce could tell that pregnancy was starting to take its toll on the fourteen-year-old. 

No jacket or multilayered coat could conceal his basketball-sized belly, and the fact that it was going to become quadruple the size by the time he kitted was stressing Damian out. 

Leslie had recently predicted that his exact due-date was October 30th, and it was currently the first week of August. Twenty-seven weeks; eleven more or so to go. 

Bruce could smell the sourness of uncomfortableness from the backseats, and he glanced at the other in the rearview mirror. 

He had insisted on driving Damian to Jason’s for the weekend, just so they could have a chat without nosy adoptive siblings or exterior invasions of privacy. The gargantuan Alpha still wasn’t experienced in emotional conversations, but he had to address the elephant in the vehicle. 

“Damian, we need to talk”, he announced, and the teenager flitted his eyes up to him from his phone screen. 

“About what?”, he asked in an irritated tone, obviously not in the mood to discuss anything related to his pregnancy. 

Ever since he returned from running away, a newfound wedge had been driven between Bruce and Jason because of their clashing opinions. Bruce supported Damian wanting to raise his pup, and while Jason complied, he didn’t particularly condone it. 

“I know you’ve felt caught in the middle between Jason and I, but you shouldn’t be influenced by what either of us thinks. You have a right to make the final decision on what you want to do with your pup, but you have to take all factors into account”, Bruce explained, and Damian frowned deeply, shutting off his phone to direct his full attention to his parent. 

“I don’t feel ‘caught in the middle.’ I know how to make my own decisions; neither of you are influencing me. But, because you brought this up, I have something to say”, the Omega announced, and Bruce gestured for him to continue as they stopped at a red light. 

Damian hesitated, glancing back down to his lap (well, whatever part of his lap that was still visible from this angle), and told the other, “Before I left, Drake mentioned that you’ll force me to keep working as Robin while raising her and doing school. He said that you would, well…make everything be my responsibility. Is that true?” 

Bruce clicked his tongue. Tim telling him that almost sounded as if he were indirectly criticizing Bruce for how he treated Jason with his deceased daughter, but the leading Alpha couldn’t give any implication that Damian once had a sibling. 

They had all vowed the day she passed that Damian wouldn’t be aware of her, just because it could cause unnecessary grief. 

Perhaps it was disrespecting her memory, but Jason had forced the Bat Family to keep their mouths shut. And so, they did, until Tim’s halfway-confession. 

“Somewhat. Your daughter will need you, but so will Gotham, so you will need to continue to manage your time wisely. But, if parenting is going to be your main priority, Robin’s absence can be extended”, Bruce decided, because as much as he appreciated having a ward and someone to aid in protecting citizens, he didn’t wish for a repeat of Jason’s experience. 

He had overworked Jason and asked far too much of him, assuming that he could raise a baby at twelve-years-old while pummeling criminals and earning the equivalent of multiple PhDs in psychology through homeschooling. 

He couldn’t afford to have history repeat itself, so when Damian raised his eyebrows in surprise and murmured, “Alright…thanks”, Bruce felt a bit of relief wash over him. 

They pulled up to Jason and Dick’s apartment, and he saw Damian grimace at the thought of having to climb five flights of stairs. Hopefully, the elevator was working again. This building was fairly modernized, so they must keep it in decent condition. 

Damian unbuckled and grabbed his backpack, grunting as he climbed out of the Lamborghini Aventador (it may be lower to the ground, but that just put more strain on his lower back). 

When he stood, his belly felt like a bowling ball between his hipbones, and he growled in annoyance. He wasn’t fond of his limited mobility, but at least he only had a few months left. 

Bruce waved goodbye to him through the window, and Damian waved curtly in return. He entered the apartment lobby and slammed the door behind him, leaving Bruce in his lonesome. The fifty-year-old frowned, but drove off anyway, dialing Alfred’s number as he did. 

As usual, the butler picked up after one ring, and Bruce immediately said, “I told him what you said I should.” 

Alfred hummed, either in approval or dissatisfaction, Bruce didn’t know. “And how did he react?”, the Beta questioned, and Bruce sighed, “He just said ‘thanks.’ I just don’t want a repeat of Jason, so I hope he takes my offer to heart.” 

“It’s not an offer, Master Bruce. It’s an alternative. Master Damian can be stubborn at the best of times; he would have continued patrolling if you hadn’t spoken to him because he would have felt obligated to. Now, you’ve clarified that he can focus on himself and his pup”, Alfred corrected, and he added when Bruce went silent, “I’m certain everything will work out, Master Bruce. Master Damian’s maturity has improved the past few years. He’ll do what is best for him and his daughter.” 

Bruce frowned yet again in concern, but didn’t comment. 

Meanwhile, Damian headed towards the elevator, relieved when he saw that it was functional again. He punched the button pointing upwards and waited, pressing a palm against the top of his belly when he felt movement. 

The fourteen-year-old glanced down, shuddering a little when he saw his swollen stomach tilt slightly to the right, with his baby elbowing that general area. 

Her motions had just recently become visible from the outside, and it reminded him of an alien creature squirming around in an eggshell. It was such a foreign sensation, and he didn’t expect to adjust to it, but it was interesting to observe. 

The only downside of watching his stretched skin bounce when she moved was that he couldn’t see his feet now, and that was embarrassing. 

When the elevator dinged, he almost slammed into someone, and realized it was his Baba, who was twirling a rusted key on his pointer finger. 

“Baba?”, Damian tilted his head, and Jason shot him a ghost of a smile as he exited the titanium box. “Hey, Habibi. Everythin’ goin’ okay?”, the older Omega wondered after hugging him and ruffling his thicker, shinier hair. 

Damian nodded and grew more confused when Jason headed down a darkened hallway near the apartment garage, and his parent motioned for him to follow. 

He reluctantly did so, dropping his backpack and peeling off his jacket, knowing that his Baba wouldn’t judge him for wearing a tank-top while pregnant like some random assholes did. 

They walked up to a wooden door with “STORAGE” imprinted across it, and entered the flickering, cramped room. The wallpaper was peeling off like rotting tree-bark, while the storage spaces for each resident was caked in dust and other substances. Damian followed his Baba to the last space, with Todd-Grayson scribbled on the rickety wood in sharpie. 

Jason unlocked it and shoved it open with a bit of a struggle, but fortunately, it didn’t seem like he or Grayson were hoarders. There was some furniture they were planning on selling, along with mementos from their childhoods like action figures or waterworn pictures. 

But, there was a sheet draped over a collection of objects in the corner, like a hunchbacked ghost. 

“Why did you bring me down here?”, the teenager questioned, wandering through the cluttered room and sneezing a couple times. 

Jason hesitated for a second, but then clarified, “Ya’ told me the last time ya’ were here that ya’ haven’t finished the nursery ‘cause ya’ don’t know how it should be themed. So, I, uh…I’ve got some stuff ya’ can use, just so ya’ don’t have ta’ go out and buy everythin’. Consider this a really late birthday gift.” 

He strode past Damian, a hint of distress in his scent as he removed the sheet, and Damian automatically became intrigued. There was a dissembled crib decorated with scattered, painted butterflies. 

Beside it were cardboard boxes filled with diapers, safety paddings for sharp corners, a folded changing table, colorful toys, and even guardrails for a staircase, among various other necessities. 

But, there were certain elements that didn’t add up to Damian. The toys were themed more towards girls, as was the crib features and blankets. Plus, the blankets seemed tattered on the edges. 

Meanwhile, the guardrails didn’t make sense, because his Baba’s place didn’t have stairs inside, and those on a public staircase likely wouldn’t be permitted. 

“Ya’ know all those baby supplies I packed away after my last…ya’ know. Well, I saved it all in case one of our pack members had a pup. I was gonna give it ta’ Tim, but he had twin boys and I only have one crib that’s more themed for a girl. So’s the clothing and toys”, Jason explained, as if he had deciphered Damian’s confused thoughts. 

“So, are you implying that I can take these necessities?”, Damian questioned, walking (or as Jon called it, waddling) up to the boxes. 

He grazed his fingertips across the legs of the crib, noticing that the wood was slightly cracked, as if it had been built quite awhile ago. His Baba swallowed audibly, and muttered with crossed arms, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I’m implyin’. Do ya’ want them?” 

Damian nodded, continuing to inspect the toys and picture-books and petite onesies. 

“Yes. But, why are most of the supplies for a girl?”, Damian inquired, and when Jason stiffened, he continued, “I know this is a sore subject, but the only pup you were able to discover the gender of was a boy. Plus, this all looks at least a decade old, but I know they are not mine. I don’t mind putting everything to good use though.” 

Suddenly, a wave of distress smacked him in the face, and he instinctively whimpered at his Baba in concern. 

“I, uh…ah, fuck it. It’s about time ya’ knew and I can’t keep hidin’ it from ya’ forever”, Jason sighed heavily, an unidentifiable sadness fogging up his cobalt-blue eyes while Damian shuffled closer to him, perplexed as to why his Baba was reacting in such a negative way. 

“Hide what, Baba?” Jason licked his lips and stuttered, “Um, well, ya’, uh…ya’ had a…fuck.” 

He rubbed his neck nervously, the stench of distress increasing, and Damian pushed, “I had what? Did I have another sibling that you, you know…lost?” 

Jason inhaled shakily. “…Yeah”, he confessed, “yeah, ya’ did. But, this one’s different. She came before ya’.” Damian’s eyes widened, and he curled his fingers into the other’s sleeve, tugging on it lightly to encourage him. 

“Explain, Baba. I want to know.” 

There was a tense period of silence, with Jason staring longingly at the cardboard boxes filled with objects of gut-wrenching nostalgia. 

“Her name was Fantasia. I know, dramatic name”, Jason murmured, “I, um…I had her when I was twelve, so I was actually younger than ya’ when I became a parent. The night I presented, I was raped, and she was the result.” 

Damian swallowed, gazing up at him sympathetically as he asked softly, “Did Father know?” Jason nodded, still staring at the crib. 

“Yeah. I was close ta’ givin’ birth when he found me. I had no idea what pregnancy was or how ta’ care for babies. When I went inta’ labor, Alfred was runnin’ errands and Bruce was bein’ Batman and Dick was in Blüdhaven, so I was alone and…scared. Really fuckin’ scared.” 

“Were you able to get assistance?”, his son questioned, and the twenty-seven-year-old shook his head, finally lowering his gaze. 

“I called Leslie and Alfred, but they didn’t make it there until she was already out. I had her on my bed, in my nest, ‘cause I didn’t know what else ta’ do. Labor with her was fast; very fast. Ya’ shoulda’ seen Bruce’s face when he came home ta’ me with her in my arms.” 

He laughed a little, but there wasn’t any humor behind it. Just melancholic nostalgia, and although Damian didn’t want to trigger him, he couldn’t restrain himself from wondering, “What happened to her?” 

Jason screwed his eyes shut, either to prevent himself from bursting into tears or to envision her. 

Possibly both. 

“Well, after I died, Dick took care of her. They got along really well; he was like a father ta’ her. And then, she got leukemia, and she, uh…she died, a few months after ya’ were born. She was four. I was so afraid ta’ see her again, ‘cause she had grown angry and bitter after I died and I didn’t want ta’ make her feel worse. But…she cried when she saw me, and I cried. I didn’t feel that emotional again until ya’ came back ta’ life.” 

Damian winced. 

He remembered Dick explaining how devastated Jason had been when he was delivered the news that Damian had perished. He had mourned for literal months through a prolonged Drop, to the point where Dick had been worried about his husband feeling suicidal. 

And, in all honesty, he had felt the urge to harm himself, but had pulled through and sobbed for hours when Damian was revived, even shoving Bruce away from his son so he could cradle him in his embrace. 

“How did she react to me?”, he uttered, rubbing his belly with his free hand while Jason told him, “Well, ya’ started cryin’ while she and I were huggin’, so she hit ya’ on the head with a toy train, which just made ya’ cry more. I know she woulda’ loved ya’ a lot now though.” 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about her?” 

“Dami, I…”, Jason trailed off, wracked a hand through his charcoal-colored hair, and rasped, “…I haven’t been given much closure in my life. My parents; my death; Fantasia. I never got ta’ fix anythin’. I still have ta’ carry the pain of not bein’ there for her when she needed me most. I was her protector, and I died when she needed me. I just couldn’t bring myself ta’ tell ya’ about her, especially with all the shit with Talia and Ra’s and Bruce…I’m sorry.” 

“Do not be sorry, Baba”, Damian ordered sternly, and Jason glanced down to him. 

He added, “Would you…would you prefer if I don’t use these supplies? I don’t want to upset you whenever you see them.” 

Jason sniffled, shifting to wrap his calloused fingers around Damian’s hand. His palm was twice the size of Damian’s, and he squeezed it lovingly. 

His hoarse, accented voice trembled as he whispered, “No. I can’t keep pretendin’ she was never here. She needs ta’ be here. This…this is closure.” 

Damian nodded, squeezing his hand in return and pressing his cheek against Jason’s elbow. “Thank you, Baba. I promise I’ll put it all to good use”, he vowed, and Jason’s eyes watered. 

He blinked rapidly and said, “That’s good. Just promise me ya’ won’t die on her, okay?” 

That was a highly-impactful promise, but one he was determined to uphold. “I promise”, he stated, and they both redirected their gazes to the baby supplies. 

Eventually, Jason started crying, attempting to muffle it until Damian insisted that it was alright. They kept their fingers intertwined, the air stuffy from dust and the smell of sadness, but not suffocating. 

And then, Damian spotted a tattered photograph propped against the base of the crib, and his breath hitched. 

Fantasia was huddled in a hospital bed, connected to a multitude of tubes and monitors, her scalp vacant of hair but wearing a knitted beanie with kitten ears on the top, courtesy of Alfred. 

Despite her weakened condition, she was grinning from ear-to-ear, revealing gaps from where baby teeth had fallen out and not yet been replaced. 

A sixteen-year-old Jason was sitting beside her on the mattress, their shoulders pressed together, and Damian was practically a newborn in the crook of his arm, petite body wrapped up in a bluebell-colored blanket. 

Tufts of his ebony hair stuck out from his own beanie, and he was staring at the camera with a scrunched nose, as if having his picture taken bothered him.

He leaned forward to carefully pick up the photo, and he folded it against his chest. 

For almost fourteen years, she was buried six feet beneath the ground. 

But now, she was here. 

They were here, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you all think of Damian's reaction to Fantasia? What do you think will happen next for this jumbled family? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading.


	14. Life's a Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's anxiety spikes as he approaches his due-date. Being the cheesy, romantic sap that Jon is, he attempts to cheer Damian up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy and mention of C-section and difficult childbirth. If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> Have this sweet slice-of-life before the final chapter! The finale will be a really long chapter, but I promise it'll be important! And then, Part 3 will soon commence! 
> 
> Enjoy.

“I hate everything.” 

“Good morning to you too, Master Damian.” 

It was a chilly, yet pleasant Sunday morning in mid-September, the air not quite frigid enough to latch the windows closed yet. Alfred had grown accustomed to this blunt exchange of sentences between them, and checked the breakfast he had prepared for the fourteen-year-old one more time. 

There was a bowl of yogurt with strawberries and granola for fiber, protein and calcium, and whole-wheat toast for grains and iron. 

The caretaker was strict when it came to Damian’s diet, especially since he was a vegetarian, so he had to cook meat alternatives. 

Damian scowled at the plate, because he was really feeling an aversion for yogurt today, and practically begged for a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream. 

“Hot chocolate is more of a dessert, Master Damian. It’s important that you stick to your diet as much as possible, especially since you had a cupcake yesterday”, Alfred scolded lightly, frowning sympathetically when Damian slumped his shoulders in defeat. 

The young Omega had been miserable as of late, his anxiousness spiking with each passing day while his midsection grew to its limits, the uncomfortableness heightened by his baby’s abnormal size. 

Damian had just been extremely tired the past couple weeks, and had almost fallen asleep in the middle of his baby-shower yesterday. 

Despite his sheepishness, his ménage had insisted on throwing one, and the celebration had been enjoyable in the beginning. But then, Damian had been attacked with a sudden bout of exhaustion, and nodded off before he could unwrap his presents. 

When he had awakened, he had realized that Jon had opened them instead, much to his chagrin. 

Technically, the gifts were for both of them for when Lin-Amal arrived (they had switched her title from Lin-Isis because it just didn’t work well on the tongue), but he had been flattered that everyone was supporting him now, even if some were reluctant. 

He was eight months pregnant (thirty-three weeks to be precise), and Leslie had officially diagnosed his pup at his last ultrasound with macrosomia, so she was a little over a pound heavier than she should be at her gestational age, and twice the length. 

Damian was honestly convinced that his belly couldn’t become any bigger, because it was a chore to walk without his swollen ankles and widened hips shooting pinpricks of soreness through his stretched muscles. 

Knowing that he still had around five weeks left scared him, though he would never confess that. 

She was just so heavy in his large belly and practically never napped anymore, instead opting for startling him awake with jarring movements to his ribcage and/or bladder. 

Leslie had discussed the outcomes of him kitting naturally, with her warning him that because of his petite size, narrow pelvic bone and age, labor would probably be prolonged and physically demanding. 

He was willing to do whatever was necessary to keep his daughter healthy, but the family physician had reminded him that if anything went haywire, a C-section was possible. 

They would attempt to avoid it because it was a highly-invasive surgical procedure, and she promised him that so long as he allowed his instincts to take the wheel and guide him through labor, everything should be peachy. 

He was just…terrified. 

Fortunately, Lin-Amal’s nursery was finished because of his Baba’s supplies and the numerous gifts from his family and friends, so he wouldn’t have to fret about anything missing. 

Her crib was situated against the wall furthest from the window, a baby-mobile twirling atop it like a knit-animal chandelier, colored in shades of gray since newborns couldn’t recognize the main spectrum. 

Adjacent to it was her changing table, the shelves beside it organized with individual boxes so nothing could be misplaced. 

He had packages of diapers, diaper rash ointment, baby soap, cotton-balls, rubbing alcohol, nail clippers, a nasal syringe and digital thermometer for her in one container, with his super-absorbent pads, nursing bras, breast-pump and ice packs in another beside it. 

Underneath them was her collection of onesies, footies and beanies, with non-hazardous, brainstorm-based toys next to them. To put it simply, he was prepared in that regard, and had baby-proofed every literal inch of the Wayne Manor so the chances of her getting injured were slim-to-none. 

There were cushioned paddings on every sharp corner, including countertops and windowsills. 

He attached covers to electrical sockets, latches on cupboards and doors, safety tassels on curtains and blinds, and gates on the top and bottom of every stairwell; even the staircase to the Batcave in case she somehow crawled down there (Bruce had been dismayed to find all of his weapon stashes quadruple locked, as well). 

Damian believed in allowing her to take risks, but he didn’t wish for her to live dangerously like he did. 

For example, he was permitted to dash down hallways with pocketknives at the age of three, but no way in a million years would he let her do the same. 

He was confident that she would be a little warrior, but he couldn’t afford for her to accidentally gouge an eye out by tripping or swinging the blade. 

Speaking of which, he should probably add latches to the utensil drawer, when Alfred interrupted his jumbling thoughts. 

“Master Damian, I understand that the past month has been stressful for you, and that the upcoming weeks will be difficult. But, working yourself into more anxiety isn’t the answer. Everything will be fine if you will allow it to be.” 

Hm, he supposed the elderly Beta had a decent point. Damian sighed through his nose and gingerly dined on his breakfast, his unoccupied hand caressing his lower belly, the stretched skin bouncing beneath his palm. 

Shit, was she having hiccups again? 

That always annoyed the daylights out of him. 

He vaguely wondered if Fantasia had been the same way with his Baba. The photograph he had snagged was framed and pinned to the wall where Lin-Amal’s crib was, just so she could always see it and know that somewhere, somehow, her deceased aunt was guarding her. 

“Master Jon will be visiting again this afternoon”, Alfred informed him, scrubbing the countertop while Damian swallowed some granola and strawberries. 

“Can’t we tell him to come a different day? I’m returning to bed after this”, the young Omega muttered, a slight whine in his tone from irritation. He enjoyed hanging out with Jon, but sometimes, he just wanted to lounge in his bedroom by his lonesome. 

“I know you wish to be alone, but it would be beneficial if you and him continue to bond. It is important for your pup’s wellbeing, and for your own”, the caretaker replied, and Damian rubbed his emerald eyes sluggishly. 

At first, he wanted to debate, but then he considered the possibility of Jon being able to calm their offspring down enough for him to catch some shuteye, and he reluctantly complied. 

After brushing his teeth and combing his hair to fix his serious case of bedhead, he trudged back to his bedroom, where Titus and Alfred the Cat were waiting obediently for him. He entered with a yawn, visibly relaxing in the darkened space. 

The blackout curtains were officially the most incredible invention ever conceived, because they prevented any sunbeams from slipping through. The only light came from the glowing flickering of the fireplace, and Damian carefully lowered himself into his ever-expanding nest, a hand cupping his absurdly-round abdomen. 

His nest comprised of personal materials such as pillows and comforters, along with belongings from all of his relatives, such as articles of clothing and stuffed animals. 

In the center was Jon’s signature sweatshirt, the “S” symbol emblazoned across it. He removed his own sweater to replace it with that, tugging it down over his belly and burrowing beneath a collection of quilts courtesy of Barbara. 

Titus lumbered over and settled against his spine, while Alfred curled up beside his belly. Damian buried his face into a pillow and inhaled the aroma of ambrosia and brownies (property of his Baba). 

He just wanted to hibernate forever, or at least a few weeks so when he awakened, his daughter was already in his welcoming embrace. 

Just five weeks to go. 

He could do it, even though giving up seemed like a far easier option. 

Eventually, he heard his oakwood door creak open and then click closed, and he sniffed the air. The scent of sunflowers and freshly-mowed grass (a slightly unusual scent for an Alpha, but pleasant nonetheless) invaded his nose, and he purred just a little when Jon entered the nest. 

He kicked off his battered sneakers, peeled off his jacket and got comfortable beside Damian, their foreheads almost pressed together. 

“Hi”, Jon greeted softly, and Damian murmured, “Hello.” 

“Alfred told me you didn’t get very much sleep”, the fellow fourteen-year-old commented, and Damian nodded with a frown, brow furrowing when his stomach muscles tightened. 

The practice contractions were becoming more frequent as of late, and increasingly uncomfortable. Jon could sense the shift in atmosphere and nosed the Omega’s scent gland, massaging it to ground the other until the false contraction passed into obscurity. 

“You’ll owe me once this is over”, Damian informed him, and Jon quirked a smile, trailing a fingertip up the perfect bridge of Damian’s nose, relieved that the fracture from the last day of school was entirely nonexistent now. 

His finger then traveled up to those overgrown, ebony bangs, and he brushed them from Damian’s haunting eyes. 

Intimacy was still new territory for them, despite having had sex once before. Neither desired to do that again for quite some time, and opted for occasionally making out and holding hands instead. 

Today was no different, and Jon leaned forward to kiss Damian’s cheekbone, followed by his chin, and then his plush lips. 

They kissed briefly, and then Damian uttered, “I still don’t understand what you find attractive about me. There are plenty of feminine Omegas in the world. You know I’ll never be like them.” 

Jon rested a calloused knuckle on the other’s jawline, and whispered, “There are plenty of super masculine Alphas in the world, but I’ll never be like them. I’m not like my Dad or Conner, but that’s okay. And you don’t have to be girly or submissive; I like you as you are.” 

Damian glanced away to conceal his embarrassment, and Jon added with a playful smirk, “What, do I need to tell you everything I like about you?” 

“I would prefer if you don’t”, the smaller boy sighed, but allowed Jon to lean over him anyway, their heartbeats synchronizing. 

“I like your adorable cheeks”, he complimented, pinching Damian’s cheeks and earning a whack to the cranium as a result. 

“I like your pretty nose and your even prettier eyes”, he proceeded, nuzzling Damian’s nose and eyelids, causing them to flutter. 

“I like your super soft hair and closed piercings in your ears.” A kiss to the crown of his head and his earlobes. 

“I like your sharp jawline, your nice chin, and your broad smile.” A kiss to the jaw, chin and mouth. 

Jon gradually trailed lower, and continued, “I really like your muscular arms because you can really pack a punch. I like all of your fingers because you’re an amazing swordsman and artist.” Each fingertip and shoulder was blessed with a kiss. 

Damian’s face flushed, and Jon chuckled, “Want me to stop?” 

The fourteen-year-old thought for a minute, and then mumbled, “No. Just get on with it, you stupid sap.” 

“Okay. I love your heartbeat because it’s so strong, and I love your belly because it’s big and beautiful and I know you can still do a roundhouse kick with it.” 

He pressed his eardrum to Damian’s chest, listening to his heartbeat right where the gnarled scar from Heretic impaling him was located before lifting his sweatshirt to kiss the globe of his belly, on each stretch-mark and scar from violent skirmishes. 

Their fingers intertwined as Jon disappeared beneath the comforter, and Damian laughed a little when he heard a muffled, “I love your hips and your thighs and your knees and your tiny feet.” 

The kisses to those areas felt like feathers brushing against his ticklish, olive-colored skin, and he playfully kicked his foot into Jon’s face. 

The young Alpha emerged at the edge of the nest, laughing genuinely as Damian’s petite toes dragged across his cheekbones and jawline. 

He licked his pinkie toe, and Damian exclaimed, “Ugh, you’re disgusting!” He attempted to squirm away, but Jon snagged his ankle (he was mindful of the swelling) and gently dragged Damian towards him. 

“Let me go, peasant”, the smaller boy ordered, but Jon didn’t listen, instead continuing his administrations until Damian was practically underneath him. He aided the other into sitting up, and Damian grimaced when his baby kicked rather roughly. 

“I believe she disapproves of this behavior”, Damian whispered, curling his fingers around the nape of Jon’s neck and lowering his head towards him. 

“She can’t see us”, Jon reminded him, cupping Damian’s cheek. 

“Unless she has X-ray vision”, Damian replied, and they kissed again. 

Neither were positive if this was everlasting love, but this was a fucking remarkable relationship for them. 

And that…that was satisfying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will happen in the final chapter? Any guesses? 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks! They are so, so meaningful to me! I can't wait to continue this series once this story is over! Thanks for reading.


	15. Awaken, My Love!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian finally gives birth to Lin-Amal, but with a twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Teenage pregnancy, prolonged childbirth and blood. If you are sensitive to any of these, please do not read! 
> 
> I actually finished a story while being satisfied with the ending! Huzzah and eureka! I had so much fun writing this story, so thank you all so, SO much for taking the time to read it and leave all your lovely comments, kudos and bookmarks! They mean so much to me, so I hope you all are happy with the final chapter of "A View From Halfway Down." 
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> P.S. Factors such as Slade's past involvement with Jason and Dick's relationship with Barbara will be looked into in Part 3, so don't lose hope XD!

October 30th, 9:23 PM. 

Damian awakened to yet another chronic migraine. Clumsily extending his calloused fingers, he tapped his phone on his temporary nightstand and checked the time. 

It was far too late in the evening for this bullshit, and he heaved a sigh, sluggishly massaging his temples until his brain didn’t feel like it was swelling against his skull like a hatchling trapped within an eggshell. 

His feline slinked up to his face and nudged his cheek, whiskers tickling his nose, and Damian mumbled, “Father already fed you”, before burying his face into his maternity cushion. 

He screwed his eyes shut while Alfred the Cat continued to jog his shoulder and cranium, occasionally meowing and eventually climbing on top of him as if he were a lounge-chair. 

It wasn’t appreciated, especially when the Chartreux settled down on his widened hipbone and started kneading at his belly, which was a newfound habit. 

Damian didn’t entirely understand why Alfred always did that, but he had read an article about how pets could either develop behavioral problems while their owner is pregnant, or become waywardly protective. Just yesterday, Titus had snarled at Bruce when he approached Damian for no visible reason, but the fourteen-year-old was guessing the defensiveness had to do with his condition. 

Damian scowled and scratched Alfred behind his ears, and the vibrations of purring were felt beneath his fingertips. At least the feline was gentle when touching his large belly, pawing at it lightly and nosing it. 

Titus frequently did that as well, while Goliath always just seemed offended because he had grown accustomed to being the center of Damian’s attention, so now that he wasn’t, he was jealous like a high-school student being rejected by their sweetheart. 

Goliath would forever be an apple of Damian’s eye, but he couldn’t really roughhouse with him anymore either, which was the behemoth’s preferred activity. 

So, Jon often wrestled with him to satisfy the enormous creature while Damian cheered one of them on from the sidelines. Meanwhile, Bat-Cow just didn’t care because, well…she was a cow, and all they focused on was chowing on grass. 

Alfred the Cat, Titus and Goliath were like his sentient security blankets, and could detect when a contraction was coming on, which was helpful. 

He had trained his Great Dane to retrieve items such as heat-packs for him when his muscles were killing him, and he considered requesting some again because with each minute that passed, his abdominal muscles tightened while his headache thrummed against his temples. 

Damian growled in frustration and pressed his palm against the headboard to lift himself into a sitting position, and he immediately noticed the switch in gravity. 

It was a million times easier to breathe, but his bladder and pelvic bone felt like they were being squished, and he groaned at the pinprick sensations channeling through his lower stomach. 

Technically, he had been laboring since yesterday evening (twenty-two hours in all) in the earliest stage when he had periods of soreness every twenty minutes or so. 

Eventually, they shortened to every nineteen minutes, then eighteen and so on. He was currently having contractions every four minutes, with each lasting fifty-one seconds or so. Some were just triggered randomly, which sucked ass, but at least he had gained a sliver of shuteye through all of this. 

He was only running on five hours of slumber since yesterday and couldn’t swallow more than a couple bites of unbuttered toast without feeling nauseated, but Leslie had warned him that because of his petite size, age and his baby’s abnormal weight, his labor would definitely be perpetuated. 

Either way, he was just drained after twenty-two hours of having contractions with practically no progress; hell, he had only dilated three centimeters within eleven hours before his water broke, which finally quickened this to six, but was slowing again. 

He wasn’t a quitter and never would be, but he was anxious and a tad discouraged. The one upside was that he was gradually entering the Active Stage of labor. 

Slow and steady wins the marathon, he supposed. 

Alfred had informed everyone of Damian’s condition, but Conner was occupied with his own offspring while Barbara was working for a majority of the day. 

Meanwhile, Dick had the evening shift at the GCPD, and the Titans were on a classified mission in Bialya. 

Artemis and Bizarro had more flexible schedules, but were currently raiding another of Penguin’s warehouses. 

Fortunately, Jon had convinced the Titans to go undercover without him while his parents automatically permitted him to miss school (it was a Friday), so he was catching some shuteye in the hallway while Jason, Lois and Tim waited near the doorway with Alfred (Bruce was at the WE headquarters). 

To be honest, Damian was relieved that nobody was in the hospital room aside from his cat (he had begged to bring a pet to keep him company), because overcrowding would disrupt his concentration and Lin-Amal was technically a high-risk pup, so his emotional stability was important. 

He had insisted on being isolated so there would be no distractions, but yet another contraction was creeping up on him and although he didn’t wish to admit it, he needed moral support at this point. 

“Jon!”, he called out, and his boyfriend was in the doorway in two seconds flat, nose twitching as he sniffed the air and questioned how he was doing. 

Damian mumbled a string of complaints in response and gestured to the heated-packs in the connected bathroom, and Jon immediately fetched them, raising their temperature as he did. 

He sat criss-cross in front of Damian, and Alfred mewled for attention while they pressed the packs to Damian’s lower belly. The smaller boy sighed through his nose and dropped his head on Jon’s shoulder, using his unoccupied hand to caress his round abdomen. 

It felt bigger than before, so he was guessing that she finally dropped after his amniotic sac ruptured, which would explain all the pressure building in his pelvic region. 

“How far apart are they now?”, Jon inquired, and Damian passed the phone to him, murmuring, “Four minutes, and each lasts about fifty-one seconds. I think she dropped while I was sleeping, but I still haven’t dilated further. It’s taking longer than I thought it would.” 

The fellow fourteen-year-old nodded in agreement and asked, “Where’s most of the pain?” 

Damian motioned to where the packs were, and readjusted them while mumbling, “I’m getting really bad back pain, but the worst is in the front. I feel like I’m dilating, but I haven’t for three hours and I’m just…tired.” 

But, at least she was a due-date baby, scheduled to arrive during the thirty-eighth week, which Damian applauded himself for. 

Jon whimpered sympathetically and carded his digits through Damian’s overgrown, ebony-colored locks, loosening the knots that had embedded themselves within it. 

Damian slumped his shoulders, relaxing for a minute before suddenly, another contraction bloomed throughout his midsection, and he snatched up Jon’s sweater sleeve, fingers twisting into it. 

The young Alpha massaged Damian’s tailbone and rocked the two of them back-and-forth while Damian’s breathing quickened, his abdominal muscles constricting tighter than they had previously. 

A muffled cry escaped him, and he screwed his eyes shut against Jon’s scent gland, praying to every sham deity that this ordeal would just pick up the pace. 

“It’s okay, Dami. Just imagine a gate opening. Loosen your muscles and breathe”, Jon repeated, kneading his heels into Damian’s lower back and counting each second in his brain. Meanwhile, thunder boomed outside the window overlooking the skyscraper skyline, lightning reflecting off the massive windows of Wayne Enterprises in the distance. 

The dimmed lights flickered overhead; a grim reminder that even though Gotham General Hospital had a backup generator, it could only regulate so much electricity when a majority of the megalopolis was the victim of a blackout. 

This violent thunderstorm with intervals of golfball-sized hail had been going on for the past three days, and according to the weather channel, didn’t show any signs of stopping. 

Because of the power outage, a majority of patients from other medical centers were packed into this hospital, which resulted in overcrowding. 

Driving here had been a conundrum, with six passengers (plus Alfred the Cat) wedged into Jason’s cluttering Jeep in the very middle of a traffic jam. 

By the time they arrived, the waiting room had been packed to the corners with injured, sickly and/or laboring civilians, and Damian had been condemned to wait for a hospital room for over an hour. 

Jason had just about screamed his head off at the employees behind the registration counter, demanding that Damian be given medical attention when suddenly, Leslie had dashed through the front entrance, soaked from the freezing rain and carrying a duffel bag stuffed with supplies. 

By sheer fortune, she had managed to make a room available, and Damian had been wheeled up to the sixth floor. 

He was checked into the hospital at 6:30 PM, and Leslie had been consistently examining him while simultaneously assisting multiple pregnant patients in the maternity ward. 

Damian wrote a mental note to thank her for working so damn hard, but was more focused on just pushing this baby out already. 

When the contraction subsided into a pulsating soreness in his lower abdomen, the Omega steadied his breathing while Jon petted his dampened bangs, the IV dripping repetitively in the background. 

He coaxed Damian into drinking some red raspberry tea (courtesy of Tim), which was infamous for speeding up childbirth. 

Damian grimaced at the acrid liquid, wishing that there was a dash of honey to sweeten it. He switched positions again, his belly shifting with the movement. 

He was only wearing his undergarments so it was easier to move without his clothing sticking to his skin from sweating, but overall, he just felt atypical and drained and wanted this to be over. 

“How’re you feeling now?”, Jon inquired, scenting him while Damian muttered, “Do you want me to be honest, or sugarcoat it?” 

“I’d rather you be honest, Dami.” 

The fellow fourteen-year-old scowled disapprovingly at the nickname and fiddled with his IV incision for a minute, wincing when he heard a woman wail at the end of the hallway, likely in labor as well. 

He chewed on his bottom lip and confessed, “I’m in a lot of fucking pain, and I really want Wendy’s.” 

Jon snickered and cocked his head in curiosity. “Wendy’s? But you’ve never eaten there before”, he pointed out, and Damian hummed, screwing his eyes shut when their pup delivered a jarring punch to his oversensitive pelvis. 

“Yeah”, he sighed, “but now it all looks good in my head.” Just daydreaming about those caramelized sundaes and grilled chicken wraps were enough to make him salivate, despite the fact that he was a vegetarian. 

His boyfriend picked up a piece of paper from the nightstand and scanned over it briefly before telling him, “Well, it says on this menu Ms. Leslie made that you can only have toast, Jell-O, popsicles or applesauce for food. Or, you know, ice chips.” 

“That’s bullshit. I want fries”, Damian complained, leaning back against the stack of pillows and growling in his throat when Jon tickled his foot. 

“I can ask her?”, the Alpha offered, though he wasn’t certain that she would allow that, given that Damian had vomited after every snack he consumed within the past fifteen hours, even unbuttered toast. 

The Omega screwed his eyes shut while another contraction bloomed through his midsection, and he squeezed Jon’s hand tightly. 

“It’s fine. I’ll just go…f-fuck, I’ll just go with popsicles, I guess. But after this is done, you’re getting me fries.” Jon leaned forward and kissed his cheek. 

“Your wish is my command.” 

....

October 31st, 12:00 AM. 

Jon was running on fumes. 

It physically harmed him to witness his romantic partner undergo such affliction. 

The splotches of crimson decorating the shower floor and trailing down the drain sickened him, but he had to keep his priorities straight. 

Damian was clutching his forearm like a vice, bitten nails digging into his porcelain skin and imprinting crescents. His panting was heavy and quickened, a contraction chainsawing through him with such pressure that Jon could see the muscles in the smaller boy’s lower back twitching. 

He caterwauled right into Jon’s eardrum, causing the other to flinch empathetically and tighten his grasp on Damian’s shoulder, just to prevent him from falling. 

Damian trembled violently against him, clenching his jaw to the extent that his teeth ground together, and he choked on another wail. 

Normally, he was wonderful at managing pain; hell, he had been stabbed and shot in vital organs more times than he could count on his fingers, but none of those could ever compare to this. 

This agony was alien; foreign to his body that was accustomed to exterior attacks, not internal. 

The League of Assassins had never trained him on how to cope with this type of pain, so his only solution was for Jon to spray lukewarm water against his swollen and reddening clit to loosen the muscles while he attempted not to scream his head clean off. 

Meanwhile, his Baba was standing behind him, shirtless like Jon so their clothes wouldn’t get wet, and he was massaging Damian’s back, hoping that this contraction was resulting in dilation. 

Damian had dilated to six centimeters an hour or so prior, but was now having mind-numbing contractions without progress. Jason tried numerous times to convince Damian to receive an epidural, but the younger Omega outright refused for reasons he still didn’t understand. 

“I can’t do it! It h-hurts, it hurts!”, Damian cried, swaying his hips while Lin-Amal pressed heavily against his pelvis, squirming frantically within the womb, as if she was determined to breach into the world before her exit route was approved. 

“Yes, ya’ can! This is what our bodies were made for, baby boy. Just imagine a gate openin’, and let her come down. Just let her come down”, Jason soothed, releasing a calming pheromone while more blood trickled down those shaking thighs. 

Fuck, this wasn’t going fast enough. 

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open, and Dick peaked in, waiting for permission to enter. Damian keened high-pitch in his throat and made a grabby motion towards him, and the Alpha immediately removed his shoes (Jon had dropped the shower-head before and spilled water across the tile). 

Bruce followed after him, slipping off his shoes as well, and they clustered around Damian, musing encouragements and scenting him. 

Dick rubbed Damian’s shoulder in a side-to-side motion and almost, almost got emotional when Damian purred hoarsely through his whimpering and pressed his cheek against his knuckle, seeking comfort and reassurance. 

None of them had ever watched him be so vulnerable before, but they didn’t judge. Childbirth was strenuous work, after all. 

“You’re doing so, so great, Baby Bat. I’m so proud of you. We’re all here, cheering you on. Tim, Babs, Lois, Alfie, Conner and Clark are waiting in the hall, and the Titans and Outlaws just got here. We’re all here for you”, he promised, and that’s when Damian’s bloodshot, emerald eyes overflowed, and he started sobbing. 

None of them were accustomed to seeing him cry; Damian was more of a “crying into his pillow when no one else was around” type of person. 

But, he was mentally exhausted and physically drained and bleeding a ton and was so fucking tired, so he honestly didn’t give a shit that he was sobbing uncontrollably now. 

Bruce, in a moment of pure empathy, hushed Damian gently and pressed the younger’s temple against his torso, carding his fingers through obsidian hair. 

Damian cried and hiccuped into Bruce’s turtleneck, swallowing a sob when the water from the shower pattered against his clit. 

Fuck, it was unbearable. 

“Damian, turn your pain into strength. Think about your goal. Your goal is to make sure you and your daughter are healthy. To do that, you have to calm down and open up. Loosen your muscles and relax your breathing. Concentrate.” 

His son nodded at the advice and tried to do as he was told, forcing himself to slow his breathing until he was semi-calm. 

“And hey”, Jon added with a positive aura, “look on the brightside: now she’s a Halloween baby.” 

Damian glared at him. 

....

October 31st, 1:40 AM. 

After ten minutes of debating and discussing, Damian snapped and begged for an epidural. He had been shockingly composed when the needle was inserted into the center of his spine, and waited until the numbness blossomed throughout his midsection. 

Miraculously, he had dilated from six centimeters to nine in a span of forty minutes because of it, and was on the verge of kitting after twenty-six grueling hours. 

Well, so much for her being born on the predicted day. 

The contractions didn’t metaphorically rearrange his innards anymore, but were just periods of throbbing soreness every two minutes. 

Damian was bracing himself for when Leslie would enter and say its showtime, but while there was a moment of peace, he managed to take a brief catnap. 

Alfred the Cat was the one who eventually woke him up, sniffing his forehead for some odd reason. 

Damian swatted him away and groaned when he tried to move; the numbness would take some adjusting to. Plus, he had a catheter since he couldn’t feel his abdomen, which wasn’t pleasant. 

Beside his hospital bed, Jon repeatedly nodded off, having had practically no sleep because of everything going on. Damian felt vaguely guilty for keeping him awake and alert for twenty-six hours straight, but Jon was blessed enough not to be the one shoving a baby down the waterslide. 

“I need to use the bathroom”, the Omega mumbled, and the other fourteen-year-old blinked rapidly to wake himself up. Yawning and stretching, he then replied gently, “Okay. Well, you’re hooked to a catheter.” 

“Yeah, and I despise it. I wanna use a real bathroom.” 

Jon sighed and pointed to the tube running from between Damian’s legs to a clunky container underneath the mattress. “You can’t get up right now since you had an epidural. Just relax and pee.” 

Damian grimaced in distaste and blushed, before ordering Jon to block his eyes. Said boy scoffed but did as he was told, waiting for a minute or two while the other relieved himself. 

When it was finished, he removed his hand from his line of sight and rested it against Damian’s belly, the kicks and nudges from their baby transferring electroshocks through his fingertips. 

Damian joined him and stared at their intertwined fingers, a mixture of adoration and melancholy within his facial features. Jon didn’t question it. He knew why Damian was upset. 

“I probably look like shit, don’t I? I feel disgusting”, Damian chuckled, resting his head on a pillow while Jon automatically protested. 

“What? No! You look beautiful. You only feel gross because you’re sweating a bunch and about to push a baby out, so…you know.” 

Damian quirked an eyebrow incredulously. 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed that there’s a pup coming out of me”, he snipped sarcastically, and then added with a lowered gaze, “and I don’t look beautiful. Stop lying.” 

Jon furrowed his brow in offense and leaned in to press their foreheads together, silently forcing Damian to make eye contact. 

“I’m not. You’re really, really beautiful”, he whispered, tucking a stray bang behind Damian’s ear. With reluctance, Damian decided to believe him. 

....

October 31st, 2:02 AM. 

“When I tell you to push, you push. When I tell you to stop, you stop. If you push when you’re not instructed to, it can exhaust you and cause tearing. Breathe slowly in-between contractions and rest whenever you can. Some contractions may be random, but I’ll tell you when to push, alright?” 

Damian was terrified. 

God-fucking-damn, he was beyond terrified, and it showed in the tsunamis of distress that exploded from his scent gland. He was already trembling and soaked in sweat and squeezing whatever hands were available to him while his legs were spread and propped up. 

Could he do this? He didn’t know. 

Was he willing to try? He supposed so. 

Leslie pulled on surgical gloves and examined him again while nurses fluttered around, fetching equipment and checking his and the baby’s vitals. 

Jon was an anxious wreck beside him, gripping his hand while Bruce, Jason, Dick and Tim were gathered next to him, all showing slivers of nervousness through their composed façades. 

Damian inhaled. Everyone was waiting just outside the doorway. 

He exhaled. They were waiting for him. 

Inhale. They were counting on him to deliver her without a hitch. 

Exhale. He was determined to do just that. 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

Breathe. 

Suddenly, a contraction crashed through him, and Leslie ordered sternly, “Push!” 

He did as he was told, tightening his abdominal muscles and gritting his teeth, toes curling from the impact of it. It was as if he was trying to squeeze an object the size of a watermelon through a hole the size of a dime, and goddamn, did it feel like it was disassembling and rebuilding him all at once. 

His cheeks reddened while she counted down. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one and stop.” 

Damian slumped back into the pillows, heaving in breath as his Baba whispered comforting words to him and Dick cheered, “That was good, Baby Bat!” Less than two minutes later, another contraction came, and the process of pushing and stopping repeated itself. 

He realized while pushing that this level of concentration was unlike any type he had reached before. It hurt more than any injury he had ever endured, but when he was pushing, it was as if only he and Lin-Amal existed within this hospital room. 

It was as if they were mutely communicating, with her working to slide down the birth canal while he aided her. It was honestly surreal, and if he wasn’t so exhausted, he would have cried again. 

But then, he heard a gasp from a nurse and frantic murmurs, and his heartbeat quickened. Damian glanced to the clock atop the doorframe; when did it become 2:52? 

Has he really been pushing for almost an hour? 

An onslaught of fatigue smacked into him, and he whined while dizziness invaded his brain. He heard Father’s voice, but it was like static on a malfunctioning television; none of the sentences were coherent to him. 

It was so strange; one minute, Lin-Amal was kicking inside his belly, and the next, she was starting to still. 

Shit, what was backfiring? 

Did he push when he wasn’t supposed to? 

Why couldn’t he understand what anyone was saying? 

“He has CPD. Get me forceps and scissors”, Leslie commanded, and a nurse handed the equipment to her. While Damian struggled to stay conscious, he heard Father interject, “Wait, what’s going on?” 

Why was it becoming so hard to breathe? 

Was he hyperventilating, or just tired? 

Wait…was he dying? 

He didn’t think he was, but nothing was making sense and something lukewarm and liquidly was spilling between his thighs and he was…alone. Not physically, but mentally, he was alone. 

Why couldn’t he feel Lin-Amal anymore? 

“Cephalopelvic Disproportion. His pelvic bone is too narrow, so his pup is trapped in the birth canal. I’m giving him an episiotomy to widen the canal. Damian, you may feel some stinging, but don’t be alarmed. Just rest for a minute.” 

Wait, what? Cephalo-what? 

Was she talking a different language? 

Why was he so fucking dizzy? 

“Baba…Baba, I’m tired…I wanna sleep…”, he trailed off, his aching limbs starting to go slack, and another nurse announced, “His blood pressure’s dropping. Start up oxygen!” 

Tubes were inserted up his nostrils and he grimaced, panic sparking in his brain. His Baba gripped his other hand and was stating something to him, but he couldn’t decipher it. 

What the fuck was happening? 

“His baby’s heartbeat is slowing. We need to get her out now!”, Leslie ordered, and she worked on widening his cervix while all of his relatives and friends observed from the doorway, frozen and visibly paling. 

Jon leaned over Damian and exclaimed something, but the fourteen-year-old hardly responded to it. Jon kept talking, anyway. 

“Dami! Damian, can you hear me?” 

“You’re so close; you’re almost done!” 

“Just hang in there, please!” 

“This’ll be over in just a bit, and then we’ll get to see her!” 

“Our little Lin-Amal!” 

“I believe in you!” 

“Come on, Damian!” 

....

October 31st, 3:30 AM. 

“Patient and baby are growing distressed, Dr. Tompkins. Should we do a C-section?” 

Damian was tired. 

Clouds of black dots were swarming in his peripheral vision. He pushed and pushed, but it wasn’t enough. His bangs were plastered to his forehead. She wasn’t moving anymore. 

Father and Baba were talking far too frantically for him to understand, while Dick and Tim were caressing his unoccupied hand and Jon was on the verge of fainting from the pressure of it all. 

They had heeded the warnings, so why was this all backfiring? His baby, who was accidental but more valuable than any diamond in the galaxy, was dying inside him, and he was helpless to fix it. 

How could he fix this? Pushing wasn’t working, and after almost thirty hours of labor, he was depleted of confidence. He couldn’t do this any longer. 

“There’s not enough time and it’s too invasive. Damian, I’m going to examine you; it’ll be uncomfortable, but bear with me”, Leslie stated, and she applied her fingers down there. Damian jerked in surprise and whimpered into his pillow, a few tears leaking from his bloodshot eyes. 

“The birth canal is widened, and her head is halfway through it”, Leslie reported, “there’s blood and meconium fluid. Her heartbeat is every five seconds; it’s slowing. We need to speed this up.” 

At the confirmation that she was technically dying, Damian gathered just enough energy to rasp, “…I…I need a mirror.” Tim frowned and started, “Are you sure you want—.” 

“GIVE ME A MIRROR!”, Damian screamed, and a nurse attached a mirror to the edge of the bed so he could see his clit. It was twice as swollen as before and bloodied because of the incision, and he couldn’t stop more tears from falling. 

“No, it looks horrible! It’s all mangled now!”, he shouted, leaning forward a little to examine it more, and his Baba assured him, “It’ll go back ta’ normal after she comes out.” 

“No, it won’t! It’s gonna look all fucked up forever!” 

“I’m sure it’ll look just as nice after this is over.” 

Everyone, including the nurses, stared at Jon, and the fourteen-year-old flushed from his cheekbones to his neck when he registered what he said. 

Damian blushed as well and shot him the most threatening glare he had ever had the displeasure of witnessing, and Jon stuttered, “I-I, um…I’ll shut up now.” 

Leslie scoffed and returned her attention to the task at hand. “Damian, I need you to give me a big push; the strongest one you can do”, the Beta said, and through the exhaustion and nausea, he nodded groggily and braced himself one final time. 

“You’ve got this, Habibi”, Jason encouraged, clasping his shoulder. 

“Three…two…one…push!” 

Damian tilted forward so he was hunched over his belly, and he pushed with every fiber of his being, face reddening again from the effort. He instinctively spread his legs even wider when he felt her protruding through, and he screamed at the very top of his lungs as she finally, finally crowned. 

It took another few minutes, but by 3:42, Leslie was using forceps to carefully clamp around her cranium and guide her the rest of the way out. 

When she exited the birth canal, Damian shuddered and gasped when her foreign, yet familiar scent plagued his nose. 

Like sunflowers and vanilla milk, it triggered so many emotions that he wasn’t even aware that he had, and the umbilical cord was severed while Dick exclaimed, “Look, Dami! You did it! You did it!” 

And yet, he trailed off when nobody else celebrated, and Damian’s blood-flow stilled into ice when Jon choked out, “…I can’t hear her heartbeat.” 

Leslie wrapped her in a blanket, sniffing her and checking her over, and Jon’s entire world felt like it was crumbling when he spotted her bluish lips and sickeningly-pale skin. 

No. 

No, she couldn’t be stillborn. 

She couldn’t be gone after how hard Damian worked. 

It was impossible; they had been cautious. 

“She’s unresponsive. We need to resuscitate her. I’ll apply CPR and you’ll ventilate”, Leslie said to an assistant, and he responded, “Yes, Doctor.” 

He rested her in her plastic bassinet, placed a suction-like machine over her mouth and started pumping oxygen in while Leslie crossed her fingers over her unmoving chest and pressed down rhythmically. 

“One press, two press, three press, ventilate. One press, two press, three press, ventilate.” 

Damian couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t speak or swallow or blink. 

He just stared at her with such devotion and devastation, everything in suspended animation around him. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

This wasn’t real. 

The universe wasn’t this vile and wickedly cruel, was it? 

A minute ticked by. No movement. 

Oxygen was pumped. Breathe, please, breathe. Still no movement. 

Jon started to cry. 

Breathe, please, breathe. 

Jason looked away and cupped a palm over his mouth. 

Breathe, please, breathe. 

Dick pulled his husband to him and lowered his gaze. 

Breathe, darling girl, breathe. 

Bruce squeezed Damian’s shoulder. 

Breathe, breathe, breathe, brea—

A wail resonated throughout the hospital room, high-pitch and booming so loud, the window shattered and launched shards of glass across the tiled floor, allowing whipping winds and violent rain to splatter the furniture. 

The assistant holding the ventilator yelped as his eardrums ruptured, and Leslie almost collapsed by the sheer volume of it. Jon clapped his hands over Damian’s ears, jaw dropping as their newborn wailed for at least twenty seconds straight before quieting down. 

That could easily put Black Canary’s superpower to shame. 

“W-what…what…”, Damian trailed off, utterly shellshocked by that shriek and swaying a little. 

Everybody was frozen for a minute while the neonate squirmed, chubby fingers curling and uncurling against her rosy cheeks. Leslie readjusted her glasses, took a stabilizing inhale and greeted with a crack to her voice, “Hello, baby girl. Just let me clean you up and check you over.” 

She scrubbed the newborn of amniotic fluid, blood and whatever cheesy substance was sticking to her, to which the pup was surprisingly compliant. 

When they weighed and measured her, Leslie recorded with genuine disbelief, “Date of birth: October 31st at 3:42 AM. Weight: ten…ten pounds, eight ounces. Length: twenty-point-sixteen inches. All vitals are good to go. No obvious health issues.” 

“Damn, you carried a ten pounder?”, Tim gasped, and the fourteen-year-old shrugged, still dazed. 

He supposed he did. 

“Look, Dami. That’s her. That’s our daughter”, Jon mused, as if it was a secret just for the two of them. Damian smiled just slightly and nodded, far too exhausted to speak right now. 

The incision was stitched up, an icepack was pressed against his swollen belly from some muscles tearing, and he was assigned to stay in the hospital for at least three days so he and his pup could be monitored. 

Either way, he was just glad that she was alive. That was all that mattered. 

Leslie carried her to him and settled her on his midsection, directing him on how to hold her. Once she was situated with her cheek pressed against his chest, Damian tilted his head to gaze at her facial features, becoming speechless when he did. 

She had glowing, cornflower-colored irises, a porcelain complexion and sported a full head of obsidian curls, which fell in tiny ringlets on her forehead. 

She already had some noticeable muscle in her shoulders and thighs, and she released a squeaky purr when Jon nuzzled her scruff and cheek, scenting her in the process. 

Miraculously, she didn’t cry hysterically like classic newborns do. Instead, she sluggishly glanced around, as if every single object and person intrigued her. Although, it seemed that nursing was the ultimate endgame, with her mouthing at Damian’s right breast. 

After being granted permission, Bruce invited everyone inside while the nurses patched up the window, and Lois remarked, “I’m guessing by the broken window and bleeding ears that she’s got superpowers?” 

Lin-Amal suckled until milk rushed into her eager mouth, and curled up against him while Damian murmured, “Definitely. Her cry is somehow louder than Jon’s.” 

“Shut up”, Jon huffed with a scowl, and Kory stepped up to gasp, “She has such beautiful eyes! Aw, and look at those feet!” 

“She looks pretty big for a newborn”, Barbara commented, allowing Lin-Amal to grasp her pinkie while Jason reminded her, “Macrosomia. And, she is the pup of a Kryptonian, so it’s not too surprisin’.” Bizarro accidentally smacked his head against the ceiling trying to maneuver to her, and then gawked in amazement. 

“She is…very pretty…”, he drawled, and ever-so-carefully tucked a curl behind her ear. “Indeed. May the Gods bless you, little one”, Artemis added, stroking her battered knuckle across the crown of Lin-Amal’s head. 

Clark stepped up beside Bruce and whispered to him, “Can you believe they went from hating each other to having a kid? It’s crazy.” 

“No”, the fellow Alpha admitted, “I can’t believe it. It…it’ll take some adjusting to.” Clark flashed him a reassuring smile, but as usual, Bruce didn’t return it. 

Typical. 

“What’s her name?”, Conner questioned while rocking Cosmo and Scout’s carriers (they hadn’t displayed powers yet, but it could happen). 

“Lin-Amal Fantasia Wayne is what we agreed on”, Damian announced, and every member of the Bat Family looked to Jason. The cobalt-eyed man stiffened, genuinely shocked and perplexed, while the Titans and Outlaws decided not to pry on whatever “Fantasia” meant. 

Eventually, after all the introductions, Lin-Amal started growing fussy from the overwhelming amount of unfamiliar scents surrounding her, and they politely requested that everyone go home. 

Tim wished them congratulations before hurrying to the parking lot with Conner so they could slumber before their pups awakened, while the Titans returned to their headquarters and the Outlaws continued their early morning patrol. 

Alfred, Bruce and Barbara exited with Alfred the Cat in his crate, and Jon’s parents hugged them before following after the others. 

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of ya’, Habibi”, Jason said, kissing Damian’s forehead and joining Dick to leave when Jon said, “Wait. Can you two stay?” 

“Um, sure. Any reason?”, Dick inquired, sitting beside the bed with Jason leaning against the wall, Herculean arms crossed. There was a moment of hesitation, with Damian and Jon glancing between each other. 

Jon swallowed audibly and redirected his gaze to Lin-Amal, so the other fourteen-year-old uttered, “We decided not to keep her. Instead, we’re giving her to you.” 

Jason blinked. 

“What?”, he and Dick exclaimed in unison, and Damian heaved a sigh as his baby fell asleep with milk dribbling down her chin. “We both gave this much thought the past few weeks. We believe that despite having money and shelter, we cannot provide her with everything she needs. Not emotionally. But, you two can.” 

The couple looked like they wanted to protest, but Jon interrupted them. 

“You guys all said before that we’re too young to do this. At first, we ignored that, but…you’re right. All I know how to be is Superboy; I haven’t grown up yet. All Dami knows how to be is a vigilante; he hasn’t grown up yet, either. We know that no matter how much attention we give her, we won’t, well…always be there for her. We want her with people who we know are heroes, but will be there for her. So please, take her in.” 

“Don’t think we’re doing this because we don’t want the responsibility”, Damian added, “we prepared ourselves for this, but what you’ve told us in the past is that we’re not ready for this yet, and we…agree with you. School, training and missions will get in the way when she should be our main priority. I know this is sudden, but you two have been attempting to have your own children for years with no success. You deserve your own child, and Lin-Amal Fantasia Wayne deserves you two.” 

“I…are ya’…”, Jason trailed off, lips quivering a little while Dick rubbed a hand down his face in astonishment. 

“Yes, we’re sure. We trust her with you. We know she’ll always be safe with you guys. It hurts to let her go, but we’ll still see her on weekends and holidays, so we’ll still be close to her”, Jon elaborated, intertwining his fingers with Damian’s. 

“And, we’d prefer if you don’t tell her that we’re her parents. Not when she’s a toddler. Despite her earlier scream, Kryptonians don’t show fully-fledged powers until at least the age of ten, so she won’t question you on that. You don’t have to agree to this, but…”, Damian trailed off, cleared his throat and confessed, “it would mean everything to us if you did.” 

Jason was still at a loss for words, so he just nodded and shakily extended his arms, and his son carefully lifted her to him. 

Lin-Amal mewled and fussed, but immediately calmed when Jason cradled her to his chest, cornflower eyes peering up at him. Dick stood and sniffed her, inhaling that special newborn scent with a choked-up expression. 

“Okay”, Jason whispered, “we’ll take her, but under two conditions.” Jon nodded for him to continue. 

“Ya’ still have ta’ be in her life. Ya’ can’t pretend she’s not here. And, ya’ can’t die on her. I’ll kick your asses in the grave if ya’ do.” Damian cracked a smile at his Baba. 

“Thank you”, he murmured, and Dick grinned at the younger couple. “Of course. Anything for you, Baby Bat”, he said, obviously growing giddy with elation at finally having a baby to raise and nurture. 

Jason swiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, sniffling a little, and Damian leaned his forehead against Jon’s, a tear slipping down his cheek. 

“Do you think this is the right thing?”, he whispered, and Jon glanced past him. 

Lin-Amal looked so content in Jason’s embrace, huddling in the crook of his arm and giggling while Dick tickled her tummy, and he nodded. 

“Yeah”, he decided, smiling softly at Damian. 

“This is the right thing. Trust me.” 

And Damian believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'd like to thank all of you for sticking with this to the end and leaving your encouraging comments, kudos and bookmarks! It all definitely boosted my confidence when it comes to my writing, so I hope you all are happy with the finale. 
> 
> I know this was all written in a month-and-a-half, but it felt like a literal year to me haha. It was a wild ride, but I'm grateful that you all gave me the inspiration to keep writing! Trust me, I'll keep writing forever! 
> 
> The end is just the beginning, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Will they really go through with aborting their pup? Will the World's Greatest Detective catch on to them? How does Jon really feel about all this? Stay tuned to find out! 
> 
> Comments, bookmarks, and kudos are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading!


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